So, Who's Doing Your Dishes This Week, Pretty Boy?
The end, the fucking end. I don't need to see the whites in their fucking eyes to open fire this time. no names, no faces. only moving targets and this fucking war. when the dust settles, I'll be the one picking up the fucking bodies and filling up holes with wasted space. and you, motherfucker, I hope you are still alive and kicking so I have the chance to pick up every sharp object within arms reach and put it in your fucking throat. this is fucking war... all I ask is that I live just one day longer than you, so that I can have the chance to spit on your fucking grave.