From me; It's what douches do,
To you: Consumer of all things wholesome,
a poem: Walking Dead
I know enough to speak it well, those without Joy suffer endless hell, compulsory service tries do me, which holds us for eternity, cruel cruel world no love is found, for dead loved ones beneath the ground, or ashes fall from higher skies, beneath the rubble or by teeth we die, which ever the means say it well, tis better to live in endless hell, than to exist no where be found, food for worms beneath the ground, and to the virgin cherry kept, here comes the worm to violate flesh, so it ends with mortal kind, suffer for a little then die for all time.
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