Tag: gLITCH
My task will be not an easy one
3.2 miles
Sweetie – I don’t want you to tell me anything
If I could only hold you till were both death – Will you forget me?
I wish I could hold you ’till we were both dead!
I shouldn’t care what you suffered.
I care nothing for your sufferings.
Why shouldn’t you suffer?
I do!
Will you forget me?
P51 Cadillac lack of the sky
I am honored
Battlefield 2042 beta
Call the sun in the dead of the night
And the sun’s gonna rise in the sky
It just happened
In balance with this life this death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
W. B. Yeats – 1865-1939
My task will be not an easy one
3.2 miles
Sweetie – I don’t want you to tell me anything
If I could only hold you till were both death – Will you forget me?
I wish I could hold you ’till we were both dead!
I shouldn’t care what you suffered.
I care nothing for your sufferings.
Why shouldn’t you suffer?
I do!
Will you forget me?
P51 Cadillac lack of the sky
I am honored
Battlefield 2042 beta
Call the sun in the dead of the night
And the sun’s gonna rise in the sky
It just happened
In balance with this life this death
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
W. B. Yeats – 1865-1939