They cannot know, they cannot care To know that they are thought so fair. The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head. Thus I Pass by And die. Continue after the photo. It is so thin a splinter of singing.
Cowards die many times before their deaths.
The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear. But I insist They're worse to get on. And the way they feels. The song of carnaries Never varies.