To Never See A Fool You Lock

Rest Is Not A Word Of Free People. Rest Is A Monarchical Word.

There Is A Warning Love Sends And The Cost Of It Is Never Written Till Long Afterward.

There Will Be A Rusty Gun On The Wall, Sweetheart, The Rifle Grooves Curling With Flakes Of Rust. A Spider Will Make A Silver String Nest In The Darkest, Warmest Corner Of It.

I Take You And Pile High The Memories. Death Will Break Her Claws On Some I Keep.

Enough Small Empty Boxes Thrown Into A Big Empty Box Fill It Full.