I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
I'll tell you something: every day
people are dying. And that's just the beginning.
Every day, in funeral homes, new widows are born,
new orphans. They sit with their hands folded,
I never turned anyone into a pig.
Some people are pigs; I make them
Look like pigs.
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was--