When I die I want to go to hell.

‘cause I’m a piece of shit and it ain’t really hard to tell.

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean,

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,

A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their lives,

Whose misadventurious piteous overthrows,

Do with death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,

And the continuance of their parents’ rage,

Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What hear shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.