Book: Macbeth

His name is crazy.
Who is kinder, considers it bravery.

Evil whispers haunting. Dark matter
Give rise to dark delusions; sick souls
Deaf pillows is trusted secrets.

Medicine would be the place and we heal
Deadly suffering.

Not the mother of the Scots, and the grave; where nothing,
In vividly than anything, do not smile;
Where sighs, groans, screams tearing the air,
But they do not hear;
Where a fit of grief reputed to be commonplace;
Where do not ask for whom to call at the cemetery;
Where life wilt faster than the flowers on the hats
Before any ailments.

And wisdom tells me not to be overly trusting.

And this life was as death.

Masterghost feelings akin to tyranny.

- I lost hope.
Perhaps where I found doubt.

But we must remember that in this mortal world
Evil often highly commendable,
And good is dangerous folly.

But last century, when innocent called a traitor.

As soon as it lags behind the will,
To catch up anymore.

And the most evil enemy of man -
Presumptuous peace.

He's formidable, but ruining other,
Not you he loves, and himself.

Sorrow for the irrevocable barren.
What happened, it happened.