

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding/Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind.
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I wouldn't mind dying in a plane crash. It'd be a good way to go. I don't want to die in my sleep, or of old age, or OD... I want to feel what it's like. I want to taste it, hear it, smell it. Death is only going to happen to you once; I don't want to miss it.
Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs.
Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared.
There's no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were.
You live you die and death not ends it.
All our lives we sweat and save, Building for a shallow grave.
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