In the spirit of Greek Tragedy!
Woe is me! ' Tis here, in the ruins of these memories I hear the strings of violins The pendulum swings And the loneliness of this life looks back at me like a headstone marking a grave
Oh, pray ye, these follies die tied to a corpse! For, I am he, a fool, who has soured his own heart Alas, even the sun, down on the ox, smiles Or plough'd soil, after the face of winter has cried will see the heavens bridged with rainbows
So, so, too sweet for me! And another guitar plucks the chords of this existence and sends ripples through the waters of bitterness
Nay, no more, upon this earth, shall I try to make old bones!
A noose? A razor-blade? a loaded gun?
A happy undertaker. A wreath laid on the snow.
I want my epitaph to read: 'He left his brains to the worms and his eyeballs to the crows.'