Two years of worhtliess bullshit and Eddie isn't afraid to say that he is sorry that he offers nothing of worth to the world and all he does is bring a certain type of sorry sadness that deserves elimination from the world. Two years is a long time to give yourself over to an idea that is a sickness that is a way for Our Eddie to continually fall from Grace. Stoop down into that darkly splendid world wherein lieth the faithless howl of Eddie's own agonies, live inside a purgatory if Hell is too much for you but Heaven is nothing more than a dream that you'll never reach. Give up everything that means anything to you and begin to go deeper and deeper into the realms of the elusive not wherein you'll come face to face with a bullshit mask that has long since eaten your true face. Eddie's so sorry for what he's done. Eddie's so so sorry for the pain he has caused. All Eddie seems to do well is cause pain.
Come to me my Death Angel with your blackened wings and your deadly scythe and take from me this last sorrow and bitter pain! Yours is the Eddie lost forever in the turmoiled currents and yours is the Eddie who pain has sought at every turn. To me, my death bringing beauty! To me, my angel of wanton despair! To me, my alabaster skinned, dark-garbed cherubim! Hear the cries of your Eddie and send Him to bed forever more!
