giovedì 4 febbraio 2010

Alove like this can never truly die ¬

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
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)

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