The depths of a mans soul can not be measured in a manor of meters
and fathoms; but rather, it is in my opinion, only quantified by his
proximity to heaven and hell. It was in such a state I ushered myself
passed the town tavern, bursting at the seams with the sounds laughter
and drunken piano playing. Had it only been a different night, a
different place, a different kind of man passing by the threshold of that innocent pub (I get lost)
The events that transpired there would never have even begun to be grasped by the feat.
I could only ask if anyone outside that place had a clue when the exclamations of mirth
became the desperate screams of the helpless, begging for their very lives (get lost some again)
giovedì 4 febbraio 2010
Alove like this can never truly die ¬
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