Heaven Would Be Hell In No Time

I Don't Like Myself You Know. I Love Myself. I'm Devoted To Myself Till My Dying Day. But I Don't Like Myself.

I Love You Still, That's The Torment Of It. Lestat I Never Loved. But You! The Measure Of My Hatred Is That Love. They Are The Same! Do You Know Now How Much I Hate You!

It Seems An Insult To The Night To Speak Of Purpose And Intent, When This Common Moment Is So Brimming Full Of Blessed Design Tranquility. All Things Follow Their Course.

It's So Easy To Persecute An Older, Overweight, Unwise, Crude, Ignorant Woman Who May Very Well Be A Good Person At Heart Who Has Achieved A Great Deal In Her Life. So Easy To Vilify Her And Hate Her And Try To Destroy Her Life. Woe To Anyone Today Who Is Not Slender, Young, Clever And Politically Correct.

Garden Of Pain, I Need You. What Were The Songs Of Beasts To The Cries Of Sentient Souls?