Mama, we all go to Hell.
Mama, we all go to Hell
I'm writing this letter
And wishing you well
Mama we all go to Hell.
If this whole thing was some sort of joke, it was pissing him off. They were everywhere. All of them scattered amongst the hidden files of his brain as each sight in the tour bus flushed another one out.
Feel no pain
You'll walk through no flame.
What the hell did that one mean? It was some sort of wanna-be rhyming, too. A poetic misfit decided to screw around with his head. Fun, huh?
Today, my friend, is a momentuous day.
To witness the death of Saint Gerard Way.
The man cringed at that 'message.' Whatever they were, the ire building up inside of him was going to burst out soon.
You've helped too many
To walk in flame.
You talk of 'Hell...'
Dear Lord, that's a shame.
Michael let out a scream. He couldn't stand it anymore!
'What the hell does this mean? Why the hell is it me?' The boy fell to his knees on the carpet, head consumed in his hands.
I've told you, love
This isn't the end.
All it is
Is the death of a friend.
Even though he'll feel fright
He'll just ascend
Into the light.
An annoying ringtone shuddered through the air.
'What now?' He muttered, manuevering the cell phone out of his pocket and snapping it open. 'Hello?' The boy muttered, head pounding sharply.
'Mikey...He's dead. Gerard's dead.'
The cell phone fell to the floor.
Ah, but he's in the light
No need to feel sorrow.
He'll be happy tonite.