Tuesday, January 7, 1997

Seeds

As cold as the riveting knives of a wintry wind on a desolate night, as hot as blood left brooding too long on imagined footfalls, dark and forlorn, mother of all lynch mob horrors and father of all atrocity bred sorrows. It voraciously devours a good hearts strength, turning even the strong-willed to hate.

- Mike Wood

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