Lesson one: involves a slice of rye and a hand grenade. A
reminder to what we once were, a mere glimpse as to all that
we will become. Black preceding black. A hint of life (of
nothingness) sporadically appears though, as if fate is having
fun with us. Vertical incisions require more imagination. Lies
are not lies when you're fooling yourself. Lesson two: and the
maturity factor. White lined trophies and black book
romances just prove walking before crawling. It's pretty hard
to keep that tan through the cracks in the walls and it's quite
sad to know that you're condemned to long sleeves and food
stamps because when he was trying to save you from this
place, you were alright. This is the universal. Lesson three:
I'm still screaming.