Seargent Gun In Mouth Reporting For Duty
So your whole idea is to sit there and let everything unfold? That's why you make me sick. That's why I want you to bleed. So content, painting over your eyes, with these dreams and scenes of better things as if nightmares of reality won't shine through your narrow attempts at happiness. Hope is dead, so I'll let you just sit there as I cut your face until I like what I see, and then I'll let you lay there, and bleed you dry until you see what I see. It's all over.