Talent

On those rainy day's alone. No one can tell you where you are going, but where you have been, other's have gone. Stories told by they who have gone on before you, saves one time if by the telling you draw them in. Life, death and love are a proper good place to start on, loss as well without loss one can not properly measure what one has to say. Become a hard women by staying soft, and lend him a breast for the man that is hard but soft in heart. To the young: Measure your friends, by their manner of speech And if your speech is proper they will learn. Verily on the out side looking in say nothing they will tell you all. To the pretty girl's: Pretty your scent the stuff you are made of will through misuse crack and stay dry. Bragging about what you had and the rocks you have held and then moving on to greener pastures. And that thing you are afraid of Will look at you, from every angle with his one good eye. All are young, all grow old and in-between some will die, unnecessary deaths from drinking and driving unable to deal with childhood trauma and overdose on drugs your mother bought you. Whilst you live and are fresh and randy, being young and not fussy but lusty remember those stories that you heard and ignored, roaring at the top of your lungs, I'm immortal and in hell I'll be found. Amongst the living dead.