There Is No Fouler Fiend

Thou Knowst The Oer-eager Vehemence Of Youth,how Quick In Temper, And In Judgement Weak.

Do Not Mourn The Dead With The Belly.

There Is The Heat Of Love, The Pulsing Rush Of Longing, The Lover’s Whisper, Irresistible—magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad.

I Believe Children Are The Future...which Is Why They Must Be Stopped Now!

Tell Me, O Muse, Of That Ingenious Hero Who Travelled Far And Wide After He Had Sacked The Famous Town Of Troy.