Death, death, death comes sweeping down, filthy death the leering clown, death on wings, death by surprise, failing evil from worldly eyes, death that spawns as life succumbs, while death and love, two kindred drums, beat the time till judgement day, an actor in a passion play, without beginning, without end, evermore, amen. -Cemetery Man
so, its friday, and I listen to that voice inside that says I should drink some wine and think about the good times. Where are those friends of mine, who used to talk tall shit about the cause and revolution and quiting our shitty min wage jobs and getting a message out there and then tripping balls into the night in the perpetual search for love or at least a wild time.
Times, they are a changing.
no place for bears to hibernate,
its 70 degrees in mid november
and everyone I know is 700 miles away
