The bigger the hair the harder they stare.
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“Story of my lifeI have a story, story of my life,Once a small boy, whose problems was rife,Of those long days, of those short nights,Fighting with my pals, studying in candle lights,Of that vunerable kid, whose life wasn’t stable,who always believed in magic, and life is a fable,Of those small boy, who refused to weep,Even when it hurts, the pain was deep,Of those little eyes, of those big ears,Who hide behind his smile, his desires and his fears,Of those forgotten games, and lost toys,That once was his treasure, reason for rejoice,Of that empty corridoors and broken walls,That once was filled with stories and footfalls,Of that small boy, who now understands,Whatever happened was good, and with tides of time he withstands.” ―Ratish Edwards “Oh, the torment bred in the race, the grinding scream of death and the stroke that hits the vein, the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief, the curse no man can bear. But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no, not from others but from them, their bloody strife. We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth. Now hear, you blissful powers underground — answer the call, send help. Bless the children, give them triumph now.” ― Aeschylus, The Oresteia Trilogy: Agamemnon/The Libation-Bearers/The Furies