To Call You Excrement Would Be An

A Monster Lies In Wait In Me,a Stew Of Wounds And Misery.but Fiercer Still In Life And Limb,the Me That Lies In Wait In Him

Flesh Could Not Keep Its Glamour, Nor Eyes Their Sheen. They Would Go To Nothing Soon. But Monsters Are Forever.

We Are All Our Own Graveyards, I Believe; We Squat Amongst The Tombs Of The People We Were. If We're Healthy, Every Day Is A Celebration, A Day Of The Dead, In Which We Give Thanks For The Lives That We Lived, And If We Are Neurotic We Brood And Mourn And Wish That The Past Was Still Present.

We Each Die Countless Little Deaths On Our Way To The Last. We Die Out Of Shame As Humiliation. We Perish From Despair. And, Of Course, We Die For Love.

Anyway, It's Gone. And There's Nothing Left In My Pocket To Charm You. So From Now On It's Going To Have To Be Tears Or Nothing I'm Afraid. That's All I've Got Left To Tell You See: Tears, Tears, Tears.