The door has a red crescent
and a round dent.
Something's written here in the same
Piling up the 300th day and night
From beyond the door,
cries of pain are heard
And the final destination
has become real
Though not a blessed beginning
What is this...barbecued dog?
Who the hell would make something
Furthermore, who the hell would
There's something in the dog's
There's nothing else to worry
Other than "who the hell is sick
enough to do something like this?",
And even that, I'd really just rather
It's just a roasted dog anyway.
I shouldn't let that creep me out.
There's a disgusting smell coming
from the pot. I think I better keep
Rows of wine bottles.
I don't really feel like eating and
drinking stuff from an alternate
There are plates on the shelf.
Nothing else of interest.
It's just a normal wineglass. There's
not much reason to carry this.