Then it wanders on, leaving the husks behind, To creep up on some other unsuspecting soul. To kill another dream. It is the final form, The destiny of everyone. It waits in dark alleys, It strikes in bright corridors. Apprearence means nothing to The Grim Reaper.
Death is for smokers, and lots of fast food.
It is the end of to a beginning, However short or long. It is the throw of a die, SIX - tough luck. The game is over. No matter how avoided. GIRL A spritely young female with perfect streamlines Blonde hair riot Framing sparkling eyes.