Feel it. That unmistakable thrill of excitement, crackling from groin to pineal gland -- signalling that here is danger, here are dark doings. Ignore it, John. You don't do that kind of shit anymore. You're starting to fit in here -- and it could do you some good. Don't blow it for the sake of a bad day.
A clock that can forecast the future. What a load a bollocks. I mean, no matter what you do, it's the same for everyone. Ya get a dreary job, ya fall in love, ya have some kids, ya fall out a love, ya lose ya hair, ya get soft... it's ****ing depressing, so I'll have none of it!
C'mon, Dad, cut this out, eh? I'm sorry, but it's done now. It's over. You're dead and cremated, mate. You're free -- you don't have to stay here anymore. Anyway, why take it out on the girl. If you want to haunt someone, haunt me. Where's your sense of humor, Pop? All sons kill their fathers, don't they say?
Yes, it's the truth. Incontrovertible -- you know it is. You killed him, murdered him in your dead mother's womb. You killed the Golden Boy, the Magus -- Killed the best part of yourself. You're as guilty as original sin. Condemned and hanged for it -- over and over again.
I'm the one who steps from the shadows, all trenchcoat and cigarette and arrogance, ready to deal with the madness. Oh, I've got it all sewn up. I can save you. If it takes the last drop of your blood, I'll drive your demons away. I'll kick them in the bollocks and spit on them when they're down, and then I'll be gone back into the darkness, leaving only a nod and a wink and a wisecrack. I walk my path alone... who would want to walk with me?
I pinned all my hopes on Brendan, and I'm sure he did the same thing with me and what a waste of time it all turned out as. And thank Christ we did it, because I'm pissed and happy and I'm with my mate. Thank bloody Christ.
Oh I see. There's some twat sitting somewhere with a pair of scales is there? Measuring good and evil in ounces? That's your problem mate. The whole bloody lot of you just wander about like a pack of wankers, seeing everything in black and white.
Can you see me now, all you friends I've lost and betrayed? Do you wish me well, then, or are you praying I'll be with you soon? Will you relish every scream when my blood starts hitting the floor, or will you turn away, afraid to look, the moment you've been waiting for too awful to look at, even for my sins? Sit back and enjoy the show.
John Constantine, you have been found guilty of first degree cold hearted bastardy. Of being a twisted, evil frigger who sneaks and creeps his way out of trouble that those less privileged have no defense against.
It's not easy with Kit. I can't just ask her out, 'cause she makes me feel like some spotty bastard teenager. I need her to know for certain, right before the very first kiss... And I'm being followed by a ghost, which doesn't exactly help matters.
I can hear the old days calling... Some of the shit I got off with last year, it's like '83 all over again. Out of the shadows and "all right, squire? Trust me." And gone before you know it. Christ, that was a laugh... So I remind myself it wasn't, it was dead mates and lost souls and cold nights with the bottle while the ghosts howeld round the door... and now it's different anyway. Kit... And saying her name makes me more determined. And I almost believe my own bullshit.
Disaster's snapping at my heels and it's time that I was somewhere far away. It's all up to me again, ennit? Somehow, I've got to stay ahead and get some news aces up my sleeve. But right now, all I really need's a smoke.
Look, the Sandman's a fairy story you tell kids to get them off to sleep. Sprinkles magic dust in your eyes and brings you... sweet dreams. I'm trying to save the world, Mad Hettie, and you want to tell me fairy stories!