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if any of my children were in a burning house.. hell would seem cold to what i would feel inside.. thinking this i believe its mind over matter.. why most peps that go in a burning building to rescue are mostly unharmed..
nothing and i mean nothing could stop me.. weither my child would perish or not.. i would remove them from that place..
i had a friend of mine.. his son died in a fire.. was heartbreaking then to find out later is wife he was split with and the brother in law set the house on fire after they serverly beat the son.. grrr
yeah i think they should be chained to a bed.. and have the room's oxygen lvl reduced so that its a nice smolder that way they would be awake.. groggy but awake.. and let the burn begin.. ahh.. they human body.. skin can regrow sooo easily..
sorry.. but sick fucks like this deserve what they get.. read my sig.. sums my feelings on this post nicely.
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It means only one thing, and everything: Cut. Once committed to fight, Cut. Everything else is secondary. Cut. That is your duty, your purpose, your hunger. There is no rule more important, no commitment that overrides that one. Cut. The lines are a portrayal of the dance. Cut from the void, not from bewilderment. Cut the enemy as quickly and directly as possible. Cut with certainty. Cut decisively, resoultely. Cut into his strength. Flow through the gaps in his guard. Cut him. Cut him down utterly. Don't allow him a breath. Crush him. Cut him without mercy to the depth of his spirit. It is the balance to life: death. It is the dance with death. It is the law a war wizard lives by, or he dies.
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