Nothings Promised, Not The Rest Of Tonight,

Resentment Makes Anything Possible.

I Want Those Young Whipper-snappers To Know That In Days Past We Actually Used To Kill Trees And Make Those Things Called Books.

Every Man Kills The Things That He Loves. Some With A Look, Some With Flattery, The Coward With A Kiss.

Its Impossible To Explain Creativity. It's Like Asking A Bird, 'how Do You Fly?' You Just Do.

You Want To Put A Band-aid On Something That Needs Stitches.