Broken. Shattered. To me it hasn't mattered. As long as I can live, I'll keep trying to give. Every word I say- the room is starting to sway. Passed out in my own blood, I hear thunder and lightning as puddles drop in the mud. "Goodbye," I say. "I hope you remember this day." That was the day I died- story of my life. Now death do I part- here he comes with his scythe.