Come with me, if you will, on the road to Hell (or success??) that is paved with bruised limbs and good intentions. Breathe into a plastic bag. Try now Die later. Doctors, I am sorry, but all of your patients will die. Every single one. Ashes to ashes, dust we all fall down.
lyrics
taking a stroll through
aunt rosie's garden i can't
feel my arms but my legs are sore
taking a stroll through
aunt rosie's garden you are
hungry or starving she'll feed you her thorns