Her steps, her body language entices, awakening instinctual urges. I wish to hold her, feel her firm supple body move up against mine. Her beautiful strong legs and her lean luscious body pressed to mine, in the troes of passion. My dancer and lover. Everyone must die.
Young mothers cry for stillborn sons.
The mother of us all sets things straight. She opens up chasms and spills her lifeblood. There is no escape, ashes to ashes. This is the way it must be. It's that old way of life that got you in here, your old life, that must die.