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We have gone too far this time, for we ruin everything we touch. Life could be a valentine, but I guess that's just asking too much. The stars made us all, but they couldn't foresee this one. Universe dying, nuclear war, 21st century vision. Sorrow makes for a great peer on those autumning dying days, but joy comes later each year through the sunshine rays. Baby, stop the bombs, stop the angry gods, 65 million BC, when it all went wrong. Words and songs are real, just as any nuclear bomb. He was made to feel, not to walk along. Melancholy makes me bitter, makes me dull and blind. This world could use some quitters, never satisfied. Where there is pain, there is hope, there is a dying voice. Always dying, never dead, giving a cheesy toast. Sorrow makes her human, makes her teeth and hair. Without the evil in this story we would be nowhere.