I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
The dust will not settle in our time. And when it does some great roaring machine will come and whirl it all skyhigh again.
We could have saved sixpence. We could have saved fivepence. But at what cost?
That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.
We should have thought of it when the world was young, in the nineties.
Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.
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