[The Gingerbread Man: Mr. Skull]
I'm the Gingerbread man!

[The Confused Transsexual: Diana Alden]
Some say the song of a crow is a cry
Some say the cry of a crow is a lie

I wonder what it's like to be one of them. Do they get jealous? Are some blacker, and therefore creators of envy and mistrust in the dark hearts of their brethren? Or do they just exist, scavenging crumbs of carrion here and there, laughing, cackling really, at the two legged pestilence painfully fouling the ground beneath their airborne pirouettes

Do they really want their screeching and hideous demanding offspring, or do they simply have no choice but to follow compulsions blindly driving them into situations they cannot control? Situations that look so easy and desirable, but lead only to the same pain, and the same suffering, and the same lifeless branches that always indicate a barrier of barren emptiness
Dead trees are everywhere...