Believe Me, When I Say;

Sung To The Tune Of O Christmas Tree O Woe Is Me, O Woe Is Me, I Used To Have A Hamster Tree, But It Was Eaten By A Newt, And Now I Have No Cuddly Fruit, O Woe Is Me, O Woe Is Me, I Used To Have A Hamster Tree!

Of All The Rash And Midnight Promises Made In The Name Of Love, None, Boone Now Knew, Was More Certain To Be Broken Than "i'll Never Leave You.

We Each Die Countless Little Deaths On Our Way To The Last. We Die Out Of Shame As Humiliation. We Perish From Despair. And, Of Course, We Die For Love.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.

Flesh Could Not Keep Its Glamour, Nor Eyes Their Sheen. They Would Go To Nothing Soon. But Monsters Are Forever.