The future is uncertain but the end is always near.
Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin We could plan a murder Or start a religion.
Each day is a drive through history.
Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it's usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.
Love cannot save you from your own fate.
There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theaters to recall the sensation of rain.