To-morrow , and to-morrow m and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.Out , out , brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player.
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more ;it is a tale
Told by an idiot , full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

-William Shakespeare-

Reign over the frozen sky
I'm dying of boredom