Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed - see here it is -
I hold it towards you.
- Keats
"Johnny died one night, died in his bed. Bottle of whiskey, sleeping tablets by his head. Johnny's life passed him by like a warm summer day. If you listen to the wind you can still hear him play"- Bad Company
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