Goths love Death, and this is why.

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Ode to Death

Death comes in the middle of the night
Enfolding me in his deep, dark embrace
Taking me away from all the demons
That populate my miserable life
O sweet Death, your warmth surrounds me
And I just noticed how huge your biceps are
As you carry me away into a shadowy abyss
And man, are those pecs ever impressive
And those baby blue eyes
Burning with the sins of a thousand flaming souls
As they roast in Hell for all eternity
That's sooooo sexy
And your black cloak flies out behind us
Smothering me in its merciful folds
Blocking out the horrors of the pain and suffering
Wow, it smells like pinefresh
But don't worry, it's still manly enough for me
To smell this intoxicating odor that kills all my senses
Drowning me in darkness to forever escape the blood
That still trickles from my...
What?
You're putting me down?!
But why?
How can I be grossing you out?!
There's no such thing as Goth cooties! You just made that up, didn't you!
Fine, be that way! See if I care!
Yeah, wave that scythe at me! You're compensating for something, aren't you?

...oh well, back to my night of futility
And self-loathing.

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Review and run.