Careful there, Poet. I might start to believe you.
Men have feelings too, you know. You bruise the petals of my manflower.
No? Part girl, part wolf? Do they lick their butter knives?
Why is it that some secrets can drown you while some pull you close to others in a way you never want to lose?
Naughty John, Naughty John, does his work with his apron on. Cuts your throat and takes your bones, sells 'em off for a coupla stones.
I'm sorry, Gemma. But we can't live in the light all of the time. You have to take whatever light you can hold into the dark with you.