Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?
It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for; I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.
What if I'm an angel without wings to take me home?
If that happens again someone's gonna get shot.... with an arrow of love!
History written in pencil is easily erased, but crayon is forever.
I am my heart's undertaker. Daily I go and retrieve its tattered remains, place them delicately into its little coffin, and bury it in the depths of my memory, only to have to do it all again tomorrow.