Do Thou Restrain The Haughty Spirit In

The Only Monster Here Is The Gambling Monster That Has Enslaved Your Mother, And I Call Him Gamblor!

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.

A Generation Of Men Is Like A Generation Of Leaves; The Wind Scatters Some Leaves Upon The Ground, While Others The Burgeoning Wood Brings Forth - And The Season Of Spring Comes On. So Of Men One Generation Springs Forth And Another Ceases.

Bursts As A Wave That From The Clouds Impends, And Swell'd With Tempests On The Ship Descends; White Are The Decks With Foam; The Winds Aloud Howl O'er The Masts, And Sing Through Every Shroud: Pale, Trembling, Tir'd, The Sailors Freeze With Fears; And Instant Death On Every Wave Appears.

Now Son, You Don’t Want To Drink Beer. That’s For Daddies, And Kids With Fake Ids.