the stars remind me of things
that they will never remind you of
you will look at the stars
and not think of anything but what they are
i will look at the stars and think of you
always
i will always look up at the stars
hoping that you are too
but within the stars i see you
i read them like braille
as they tell me our story
at the very least
the ones in our memories

Picturesque life
I can see it unfold
It will no longer be
A story untold

Everyday is precious
With you by my side
You're my light in the dark
When our worlds collide

Now, it won't be easy
But I won't sit and ramble
Because this life of ours
Is just one big gamble

I know we'll make it through
Despite all the trials
Because for you I would walk
Five hundred miles

Song lyrics are great and all
But what I say is true
I can't wait for our story
To begin, just me and you

Trouble is my business
The name of my game
I fix problems
Don’t assign blame
Keep it under my hat
I don’t complain
I go about my business
Sunshine or rain
If there is trouble
Trouble is my name

I don’t look for it
But if it comes to me
I know what to do
I got the beat

I’m a tiger in a tornado
I am the wind
You don’t want to mess with me
I always win

Trouble, trouble, toil and trouble
You know the drill
My compatriots will call on me
When there’s a need, they will

If life gives you lemons
just be thankful it’s not a lime,
and when squeezing it
avoid getting the juice in your eye this time.

Edgar Alan Poe is dead. Seriously, I read it.
He died in October 1849 - or did he?
Do we really know?

Poe wrote about death a lot,
he teased with it, it was his favorite tool.
He kept death close and twisted it like a knife.

His profession was the macabre, the shadow,
the summoned dread and the gruesome aftermath.

He was a writer and a critic - what’s more dreadful than a critic?

They say he died from “unknown causes”
- how absolutely perfect.