And I thought my jokes were bad...
Even if the sky is falling down like she supposed to be,
She gets down low for me,
Down like her temperature, ’cause to me she zero degree,
She cold, overfreeze,
I got that girl from overseas,
Now she my miss America,
now can i be her soldier
Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that is so deeply part of your being that you that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more, perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps 20. And yet it all seems limitless.