We all went around the table, telling stories, and Marc batted cleanup, as always. There weren't many dry eyes.

I know I'm searching for somethingSomething so undefinedThat it can only be seenBy the eyes of the blindIn the middle of the night.

It has incredibly well -preserved orange-red coloring on the hair and eyes.

She can kill with a smile,She can wound with her eyes.

When you look into my eyesAnd you see the crazy gypsy in my soulIt always comes as a surpriseWhen I feel my withered roots begin to growWell I never had a place that I could call my very ownThat's all right, my love, 'cause you're my home

I've got tears in my eyes. It is phenomenal. I'm just so overwhelmed by this. What a difference. It just looks so clean and nice.