I crawled up the stairs in search of the stars, they seemed so bright, for I wanted one to eat, the brightest in the sky. Wings of hope took me high, past clouds, beyond sound,, into silence, with the dead near, though not so alone, fallen snow in the frost of gone, I pass the time.

Fierce fighters can fight like hell.

History is repeating sorta.

Its the end of the war..

The pot heads failed to form a union. It meant them having to do something. They just weren't that into it.