“A sweaty-toothed madman, with a stare that pounds my brain.
His hands reach out and choke me.
And all the time he’s mumbling. Mumbling truth.
Like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, it’ll never be enough.
You kick at it, beat it, it’ll never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying,
it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.”
Dead Poets Society