pentagram_shatter Mister Brightside it'll be strange to break it. i'll sew a pouch to keep the shards in and whistle a little song of broken spells if the gates are open i'll walk a little side trip and go whistling in the graveyard in one direction the lush green cemetery where the voices never sleep or, in the other, the old dirt boneyard where many of the city's first settlers sleep beneath cracking stones or wooden crosses and barren earth. sweeping and cleaning rain washes away 050105 what's it to you? who go blather from