Is this formality?
Or, is it hope and heartache?
Are we supposed to feel so many headaches?
Another lost language, sullied by time.
I don't know if I am Hercules or Heracles...?
At least I can still breathe amongst these savages.
My mournings are uneventful.
Until I make her dinner.
To see this look on her face, it's worth everything.
Why else would I wake up?
If it didn't consist of building her evening.
She owes me nothing.
She sows me something.
Milk & water & grain & lemon juice.
I owe her everything.
You sound like the worst assholes.
Maybe you kids are the nicest people ever.
Off in a distance, I shouldn't even venture a guess.
I imagine assholes.