Älskvärt.

There's a Christmas tree somewhere

in London with a bunch of presents

underneath it that'll never be opened.

And I thought, if I survive all of this,

I'd go to that house, apologize to

the mother there, and accept whatever

punishment she chose for me.

Prison... death... didn't matter.

Because at least in prison and at

least in death, you know, I wouldn't

be in fuckin' Bruges.

But then, like a flash, it came to me.

And I realized, fuck man, maybe

that's what hell is: the entire rest

of eternity spent in fuckin' Bruges.

And I really really hoped I wouldn't die.

I really really hoped I wouldn't die.