The pain is not fiery.
The pain is not cold.
The pain is bitter.

How dare you make fun of my dead friend?
How dare you?
How dare you use his death as an excuse to say that you're happier than me?
How dare you?
Death isn't funny, and it's not something to use
Against someone.
How dare you?
It's not something to mess around with to gain sympathy,
Or to make yourself feel better simply because
You don't like someone.  
How. Dare. You.
The rage I'm feeling at the Universe we live in,
Is not directed at anything.
Except for the unfairness of life and how life
Takes the things we love most.
How dare you use that against me?
*H O W  D A R E  Y O U

I am your low roar     of distant thunder,
you are my intense     flashes of lightning.

Who told my mother of my shame,
  Who told my fatlier of my dear?
Oh who but Maude, my sister Maude,
  Who lurked to spy and peer.

Cold he lies, as cold as stone,
  With his clotted curls about his face:
The comeliest corpse in all the world
  And worthy of a queen's embrace.

You might have spared his soul, sister,
  Have spared my soul, your own soul too:
Though I had not been born at all,
  He'd never have looked at you.

My father may sleep in Paradise,
  My mother at Heaven-gate:
But sister Maude shall get no sleep
  Either early or late.

My father may wear a golden gown,
  My mother a crown may win;
If my dear and I knocked at Heaven-gate
  Perhaps they'd let us in:
But sister Maude, oh sister Maude,
  Bide you with death and sin.