I tremble on its ironic jokes. The wrath of decaying corpse is a grotesque end for a tragic comic play. We are insignificant men confronting ourselves with a possible after play. It takes all the meaning from our actions. It's a fact calling in question our artificial constructions of man's hierarchy. It's all nothing from the prospective of d**h. It's everything from the prospective of life. I'm waiting for d**h to call. Terrified! Why do we all have to die? A s**ing parasite since incarnation. What terrible words an interchange of creation and annihilation. It's all nothing from the prospective of d**h. It's everything from the prospective of life. I'm still waiting for d**h to call. Terrified! Has she forgotten me? A day, a year with no sense. It's a curse of what we wish. A s**ing parasite since incarnation. What terrible words an interchange of creation and annihilation. I'm still waiting for d**h to call. Terrified! Has she forgotten me? The wraith of decaying corpse is a grotesque end for a tragic comic play. We are insignificant men confronting ourselves with a possible after play. All pa**ed by or pa**ed away. The world has changed. What am I still doing here?