Original subtitles

- "The giants who formed this world

"and now seem to live in it in chains

"are actually the cause of its life

"and the source of all activity.

"But the chains are the cunning of weak and tame minds,

"thus the proverb,

"'The weak in courage are strong in cunning.'

"Thus the one portion of being is the Producer,

"the other, the Destroyer.

"To the Destroyer,

"it seems like the Producer is in his chains.

"But it is not so.

"He only takes tiny bits of existence

"and thinks it is the whole thing.

"These two classes of men are always upon the earth,

"and they should be enemies.

"Whoever tries to reconcile them

seeks to destroy existence."

- I don't wanna play this game no more.

- Silence.

Prepare for battle.

- I gotta pee.

- En garde, shit stain!

- Ow!

- Pussy!

- I'll give you ten seconds,

and then I'm coming in after you.

I am the Destroyer!

I'm gonna get you, Peter!

Fight! I'm the Destroyer!

- Welcome to The Feast with Peter Grey.

Today's feast,

venison steaks and a maple syrup crème brûlée.

- These venison steaks are from Sullivan County

from a doe that I shot and butchered myself.

- Ew, Peter! - What?

- That's ̶ that's Bambi.

Wah-wah-wah.

- Come on, Peg.

I mean, hunting is one

of the most fundamentally human acts.

We've been doing it for thousands of years.

- It's gross.

- It's, uh...

it is organic.

It is sustainable.

I mean, if you want gross,

spend five minutes on the kill floor

of any commercial slaughterhouse.

I'm sure that you'll never eat supermarket meat again.

- When we come back, The Feast continues with ̶

- With crème brûlée

made from locally harvested maple syrup.

Don't go away.

- I mean, I really can't take any more of this.

I can't. He's not working with me at all.

- I don't know what ̶ he's under a lot of stress.

- What the fuck was that all about?

- What?

- I was riffing in there, asshole.

Riffing?

- Tell him what they said.

- Tell me what?

- Peter, would it kill you to just play along

every once in a while?

- No, tell him what they said. - Bambi?

You thought that was hysterical.

- No, it was a joke.

The audience was rolling in the aisles.

- It was fucking idiotic.

That's what it was.

- I can't work with this asshole.

- I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Thank you.

- I wouldn't call what you do work.

The only thing missing from her is a fart in a kazoo.

- Nice. That's helpful.

- Just get another one, Phil. They're a dime a dozen.

- It's just not working anymore.

- Look, Peter, Peter,

you knew what you were getting into

when you signed up for this.

You do the cooking.

Peg provides a touch of folksy levity.

- But she goes too far.

I mean, everything is a joke, Phil.

- That's what the audience wants.

- Well, it's not what I want.

It's not what the show was supposed to be.

I mean, I would like people to learn something.

- No, ah, ah.

They don't want to learn something, Peter.

They want to be entertained.

You used to understand that, but you've changed.

- Well, now here it starts.

- The on-air rants, the pompous lectures.

It's ratings poison, man.

- I don't care about the ratings.

Don't talk to me about the ratings!

- Okay, okay.

You know what?

The word from the front office

is that thanks to a major dip in those ratings

which you care so little about,

they are most likely not renewing

The Feast with Peter Grey for the fall.

- You can't be serious.

- I'm dead serious.

Congratulations, Mr. Integrity.

♪♪

- Hey, all.

What's the matter?

What's going on?

Come on, we have dinner in less than two hours.

Chop! Chop!

What the hell is going on?

Where is everybody?

"Feast reviewed by J.T. Franks.

"I've lost count

"of the Alice Waters-inspired New Americans

"that I've reviewed in the West Village,

"all of them terrible.

"Peter Grey's exercise

"in masturbatory pretentiousness, Feast,

has done nothing to up the average."

- Go on.

- "Many of you know Peter Grey for his insufferable

"and increasingly skin-crawlingly awkward

"sustainable-organo-themed

"cable television series, The Feast With Peter Grey,

"which, rumor has it,

"is teetering on the brink of cancellation.

"The city's diners

"should be considering themselves fortunate

if the same fate befalls this dud of a restaurant."

Oh, fuck Franks.

- Fuck Franks?

- He creates nothing.

- Dude, he creates public opinion,

ergo, he creates everything.

- Gordon, he's a fucking food blogger.

- You just don't get it.

It's a fucking disaster.

Is it true?

- Is what true?

- About the show being canceled?

- Well, what if it was?

I've been wanting to focus more on my cooking anyway.

- Focus on your cooking?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Bill Haythe just called.

They've decided to put the expansion plans on hold,

which means they're dead.

Ditto with the line of Peter Grey cookware.

Dude, without your TV face going on the screen every day,

you have fucking nothing.

There's no cooking to focus on.

- This is insanity, Gordon.

We were just getting started.

- Peter, let me give you a little advice here.

This whole organic, sustainable, green shtick,

it's a down economy.

People don't give a damn where their hamburger comes from

or how it got to them.

They just want it to taste good.

- So what now?

- The sous-chef from Marlow and Sons

is gonna be in this afternoon.

He's taking over the kitchen.

- I'm fired?

- My hands are tied.

- Gordon, this is my life.

- Dude, you're a talented guy,

a little pretentious ̶ scratch that.

You're a lot pretentious.

I agree with Franks on that one.

Anyway, you'll land on your feet.

♪♪

♪♪

- I am the Destroyer!

I'm gonna get you, Peter!

I am the Destroyer!

No! Stop! No!

I've really hurt my ankle.

Johnny, stop, come on.

- Silence!

Crunch!

- ♪ I'd give you ♪

♪ the ocean ♪

♪ I'd give you the sky ♪

♪ if I could ♪

♪♪

♪ I'd push it all back ♪

♪ between the sidewalk cracks of your neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ Neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ Soldiers of misfortune ♪

♪♪

♪ Fight for something they can't see ♪

- How is everything?

- Pardon?

- Do you, uh, need anything else?

- I'd love a little joy.

- Excuse me?

- Maybe a bowl or a dish, a plate,

a trough of joy would be wonderful.

- L... I don't understand.

- I know.

Can I get the ̶ can I get the check, please?

- "Of all the items offered on the menu at Le Suc,

"they left off the only one I would order

"if ever I paid a return visit.

"That item would be a time machine,

"with which I would go back

"to recapture the hour and seven minutes

"Chef Daniel Berlow pilfered from me

on my first visit."

Another scathing review. How nice.

- Public demands raw meat.

I just give it to them.

- "L learned that 'Le Suc' means 'juice,'

"so I can't say the experience was an entire wash.

"As for the food, one word:

vomitus."

Vomitus?

Is that even a word?

- Yep.

- How can you write this shit?

- Just playing my role, babe.

- And what role would that be?

- The Iron Sheik.

- The who?

- The Iron Sheik, professional wrestling.

He's the villain.

He's the guy who keeps Sergeant Slaughter in check,

lest the public get restless.

- I see.

Whatever happened to your novel?

You know, the one...

- Yeah, I remember the one.

- I thought it was good.

- It was shit.

- I guess I'm gonna hit the hay.

I got to be there early tomorrow, so...

- Okay.

- I'll be at Saint Luke's-Roosevelt.

I left the number on the fridge.

- Mm-hmm.

- When they give me a room,

I'll call and give you the direct line, all right?

I wish you were coming with me.

- I don't like hospitals.

- I know. I just ̶

- Hey, I'm on a deadline.

I'll be there to pick you up.

What?

Are you ever going to look for a job, by the way?

'Cause you spend a lot of time

just standing around the apartment in your underwear

looking at me like that,

kind of hanging out over my shoulder.

- Do you even want another child?

- Jesus Christ.

- I need to hear you say it.

Because if you think

that I enjoy going in for these treatments,

all the poking and prodding and ̶

- Then don't.

Don't.

- You don't mean that.

- Really?

- What is wrong with you?

You've become so mean.

- Yeah, well...

shit happens.

And then your kid dies of cancer.

- Stop!

Look at me!

I said, look at me!

I am so sick of this poor, bitter asshole routine.

We're starting over right now, you and me.

We're starting over, just yes or no.

Just ans ̶ just answer me, okay?

- L ̶ l had ̶

I had this moment just a few minutes ago.

I was watching you pack,

and you were putting all your stuff in,

and I couldn't help but thinking

that if you took that bag

and you walked out the door tomorrow

and you never came back

that it would weirdly be the exact same thing

as if you did come back.

I-I don't ̶ I don't care.

Live, die, stay, go,

I don't give a shit anymore.

Think about that.

Okay.

Hello?

Hello?

- Good morning, Mr. Franks.

- Thirsty?

Water,

universal solvent,

elixir of life.

Three weeks without food

but only three days without water.

- This is about my review?

This is about my fucking review?

- For now, you will fetch your own water.

This is insanity.

You realize that this is absolute fucking insanity,

right?

- You will fill the bucket.

You will carry the bucket back to your tree.

And then, and only then, you may drink.

- My site gets 40,000 hits a day.

Don't you think that somebody's gonna notice that I'm missing?

- If you break the rules, you'll get nothing.

Is that clear?

I said, is that clear?

Clang!

- Ah, fuck!

Ah, fuck!

Help!

Help!

Fuck.

Fuck!

- Mr. Franks, no one can hear you.

- Help!

- Help!

- Fuck!

- Help! - Help!

- Help!

- Help!

- Help!

- I'm not sure if we're in the middle of nowhere,

but I feel we're quite close to it.

Rules, Mr. Franks.

Rules.

Not a drop till we get back.

Fill the bucket.

Empty the bucket.

Empty the bucket.

- Fuck off.

Fuck.

Ah, fuck.

- Pick it up.

- We'll try again tomorrow.

Perhaps a night under the stars will clear your mind.

- Okay, wait! Wait, wait, wait!

Wait! Wait!

Wait, Grey!

You fucker, wait!

Help!

- Phase one of your rehabilitation

was instilling in you a respect for the rules,

which I think we can both agree you've finally acquired.

- Look. What do you want?

I have money.

- Phase two involves empathy,

teaching you to care.

- Okay, I swear to God,

I will not breathe a word of this to anyone.

If you just let me go, I'll make something up.

I'll say ̶

- As a critic,

you have no emotional connection to your work,

so I suspect that this part

will be slightly more challenging for you.

- For the love of Christ, man.

Let's see.

"September 25, 2007.

"Over Easy, reviewed by J.T. Franks.

"The pretext of Over Easy is simple:

"breakfast your way, all day.

"If the wretched, scabby mess of egg yolk and charred white

"that the kitchen brain trust at Over Easy

"recently tried to pass off as breakfast my way, all day,

"then perhaps they should drop the 'Easy'

"and simply refer to this wretched Williamsburg newcomer

as 'Over.'"

How do you like your eggs?

- What?

- I said, how do you like your eggs?

- Over easy.

- Excellent.

You may eat as many eggs as you like,

as long as you cook them to perfection,

over easy.

No runny yellows.

If you deviate from perfection,

there will be consequences.

- What about my hands?

- What about them?

I can't cook like this.

- Then you don't eat.

Well?

- Oh, dear.

That's too bad.

- I was very clear, very clear, Mr. Franks.

Over easy.

No runny yellows.

- You broke the yolk!

You broke the yellow!

Now for my review.

J.T. Franks is a worthless cunt who doesn't deserve to live.

The end.

♪♪

- Welcome back to The Feast with Peter Grey.

Today's feast, rainbow trout with a potato frittata.

- This trout comes to us from Sullivan County,

from Roscoe, New York,

which our local anglers like to refer to as Trout Town, USA.

The butter I picked up

at a local farmer's market in Livingston.

Now, you just have to look at that creamy, rich color.

Beautiful.

Now to our frittata.

We're gonna let this go for another minute.

The egg.

- You know, the egg is really a perfect food,

packed with protein, vitamins, omega-3 fatty acids.

- Cholesterol.

- This egg comes from Honey Hill Farms,

which is just about an hour or so

up the Hudson River.

Now come in.

As you can see,

look at that beautiful, deep, rich, golden color.

Really exceptional.

- Looks like a regular old egg to me.

- Peg, maybe you could make yourself useful

and dice those potatoes.

Now, a frittata is essentially an Italian-style omelet,

which, if I can just...

An Italian-style omelet...

- Looking for this?

- Well ̶ oh!

- Oh, oh, oh-oh!

Your frittata has spill-ata!

- Mr. Grey?

Mr. Grey!

- Oh, not today.

- Bill Coley, private investigator.

Sorry to bother you.

I'm just following up on a missing persons.

Do you know him?

- J.T. Franks.

- You ever met him?

- Can't say I have.

- He wrote a nasty review of your restaurant.

- J.T. Franks writes nasty reviews

of every restaurant in this town.

Nastiness is his métier.

- Well, he seemed to reserve an especially toxic disdain

for you, though.

- I wouldn't know.

- Well, he compared your venison burger

to a vasectomy scar.

Well, he has a way with words.

I must admit,

I laughed at that one when I read it myself.

- Now, his review,

would that have anything to do with your abrupt departure

as head chef at Feast?

- My departure has been in the works for some time.

- Doing a little off-roading there, Mr. Grey?

- I have a house in the country.

- Oh, yeah? Where?

- Am I a person of interest, Mr. Coley?

- Ah. No, no, no, no.

That-that-that's cop talk.

Me?

I'm just following up on a missing persons.

If you think of anything, give me a call.

- Authorities say there has been little progress

in the case of missing food critic J.T. Franks.

For more on this developing story,

we go to News 3's Melissa Sanchez.

- Katherine Franks,

the wife of missing food critic J.T. Franks,

made an emotional televised appeal today

for any information on her husband's whereabouts.

Can you tell us where the police are right now

in this investigation?

- We're asking anyone who might have seen him

to please come forward

and to contact your local law enforcement.

- And is there anything

you would like to say to your husband

if he's watching this?

- Jimmy, if you're watching this,

please...

Please, know that I'm here

and all I want to know is that you're safe.

- Franks was last seen

leaving the midtown offices of Gastropunks.com

on April 19th.

Anyone with information

is asked to call the phone number on your screen.

- Wake up!

Wake up! Wake up!

We've got the dinner rush!

Wake up!

Wake up!

Fire those entrees!

- Fire those entrees!

Good afternoon, Mr. Franks.

- Okay.

You've made your point.

Look,

I'm a dick.

I understand that now.

I-I write these things

without thinking about the consequences

for people like you,

and it's just because I hate myself,

and I'm sorry.

Do you hear me?

I'm sorry.

- Oh, my dear sweet Jesus, is that good.

- Listen. Listen to me.

Just look at me.

What do you want me to say?

- Do you like steak, Mr. Franks?

- I've learned my lesson. What do you want?

- Do you like steak, Mr. Franks?

- Do you like steak, Mr. Franks?

- Yes!

- Well, you might be interested to know

that this steak comes from a local farm,

pasture-raised, grass-fed,

no drugs, no hormones.

The flavor is sublime.

How do you take yours?

- Medium rare.

- You don't say.

"June 24, 2008.

Black and Blue, reviewed by J.T. Franks."

- Not again.

- "What is it about medium rare

that the city's chefs find so difficult to execute?"

- What the fuck do you want from me?

- "Season with salt and pepper,

"3 1/2 minutes on the grill,

"flip and repeat.

A monkey could do it, right?"

Well, calling all monkeys.

Hungry?

Well, tell you what.

I have another of these babies

right here in the cooler.

Toss it on the grill.

Cook it just right, medium rare,

not a flea fart hotter or cooler.

If you can manage that,

then the steak is yours.

I grew up in these woods, Mr. Franks,

me and my big brother, Johnny.

Johnny was kind of a randomly cruel kid,

the type that would pull the hind legs off a rat

and put it in a box with a blind cat,

just to see what would happen, I suppose.

He did things to me too,

mean, nasty things.

One day, he pushed me too far.

It's amazing the kind of rage

that can build up in a small child.

I dug his grave with my bare hands,

covered his body with leaves and dirt.

No one ever looked twice at it.

It was hard on my parents,

never knowing what happened to their boy,

whether he was dead or alive.

But eventually, many years later, they died,

and with them, the pain was resolved.

There are two classes of men in this world,

Mr. Franks.

One who create

and add something to the collective human experience.

And those who destroy,

who lurk in the shadows and wait for saps like me

to come along to punch myself out

and collapse

so they can poke me with sticks

until I beg for mercy.

There will always be these two classes of men,

and they should be enemies.

He who seeks to unite them,

seeks to destroy existence.

And your steak is overcooked.

Why?

- What?

- Why?

- What, Mr. Franks?

I can't hear you.

If you're going to speak, then speak up!

- Ah!

- That's right, Mr. Franks.

That's right.

After all, we're just animals.

There will be a special reward for you after this.

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪

♪ which nobody can deny ♪

- Whoo! - Bravo.

Ah, listen, they say ̶ they say that all good things

must come to an end,

and despite all the headaches,

this show was very good indeed.

- Too good.

- Too good. Too good, absolutely.

To Peter and Peg.

We didn't always see eye to eye,

but there's nobody I respect more.

Salute. Salute.

- Cheers. - Cheers, guys.

- Thanks. Well done, well done.

- What are you doing in here?

- The door was open.

You know, I had to wear makeup once,

back in my cop days.

Did this, uh, public service announcement,

little thing on domestic violence.

- I'm sorry, Mr. Coley?

Is there something that I can help you with?

- There's no need to be rude, Mr. Grey.

- I'm sorry.

It's just that I have an important meeting

I have to attend.

- Oh, really?

'Cause it seemed to me

that you are on a bit of a losing streak,

you know, what with the restaurant and the show.

- That which does not kill me only makes me stronger.

- Well, you must be pretty damn strong at this point.

What happened to your hand?

- I burned it.

- Mm.

So I've been doing a little digging.

It's a terrible tragedy with your brother.

Yeah, in that regard,

you and J.T. Franks have a lot in common.

- Oh?

- Yeah, his son died two years ago.

Leukemia.

- Well, that's a very sad story.

I didn't even know he had a wife.

- Yeah, a real nice lady.

It's a funny thing, though.

She's convinced that Franks has run off,

you know, that he doesn't want to be found.

I mean, I don't believe it.

See, I got these superhuman nostrils.

I can smell bullshit a mile off.

How'd you burn your hand?

- Cooking.

- Cooking what?

- Soufflé.

- What kind? - Cheese.

- Was it good?

- Delicious.

- Okay.

You...

you take care of that hand.

Looks serious.

♪♪

- Cheese soufflé, Mr. Grey.

- It's okay. It's okay.

I'm gonna help you.

I'm gonna get you out of here.

Gonna get you out of here.

I need something for that chain.

I'll be right back. I promise.

- No! No, no, no, no!

- Hello?

No!

- He's dead. He's dead.

Go on, you fucking coward.

Coward.

Come on!

Come on!

- No one can save you now, Mr. Franks.

♪♪

Open raviolo with wild rabbit

and red mulberry ragout and...

open raviolo with wild rabbit

and red mulberry ragout.

May 19, 2009.

"Feast reviewed by J.T. Franks."

Who am I kidding?

I don't need the paper to remember this one.

"Silly.

"That's the only word that could characterize

"Peter Grey's open raviolo with wild rabbit

"and red mulberry ragout.

"How else to describe a dish

"which boasts a rabbit ragout sweetened with the very berries

"which said rabbit feasted on

"as a happy creature in the wild.

"I was left wondering

"what horrible sin did Mr. Bunny commit

"that he should have to suffer

"such a twisted and Dante-esque fate.

"And who does Peter Grey think would actually believe

"such culinary balderdash?

"Note to Peter Grey:

"J.T. Franks knows frozen Chilean mulberries

when he tastes them."

Two preparations, identical in every way

except that with one, I have substituted

Atropa belladonna, or deadly nightshade,

for the red mulberries.

Consumption of two to five belladonna

by a child is lethal.

For an adult, 10 to 20.

With that in mind,

you may sample one bite from each plate

to ascertain which has the mulberries

and which the belladonna.

You will then consume in its entirety

the dish of your choice.

There's a third option.

If you like, you can decline this challenge.

You can elect neither plate,

in which case you'll eat nothing.

Is that clear?

- Mm-hmm.

- Bon appétit.

- Ah.

Cleanse the palate.

- Oh, come on, Mr. Franks.

A taste-maker as formidable as yourself,

this should be a walk in the park.

That one's the mulberry.

- Very well.

Do you wish to proceed?

- Yes.

- Dig in.

Now we wait.

Are you feeling a little wheezy, Mr. Franks?

- A little shortness of breath.

Air passages constricting.

- I would imagine...

your vision's getting blurry now.

- Hard to believe

that taste buds so formidable they could

discern the difference between local and imported mulberries

would miss something so obvious

as belladonna

unless of course you are completely full of shit.

- And now for my review.

- Oh, God.

- J.T. Franks, self-appointed authority

on good taste died today

because his taste buds were so atrophied

that he could not taste the difference

between shit and shinola.

The end.

And now for my review.

Pasta overcooked.

Ragout sour.

Poor little rabbit.

Peter Grey, culinary huckster,

third fucking rate.

Now and forever.

- Do you know what this is?

Pilocarpine.

- It's the fucking antidote.

Do you think I would let you off that easily?

- Hi, this is Bill Coley, private investigator.

Leave a message, and I'll get back to you.

- Hi, Mr. Coley, this is Katherine Franks here.

Um, I guess I'm just checking in.

I didn't hear from you today,

so I'm just wondering where we are with everything.

I guess just call me when you get this.

Okay, bye.

- I'm so sorry.

Where are we?

Where are we?

- I'm so sorry.

I'm so fucking sorry.

- Get back. Just breathe.

- Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome back to another episode of

Cook For Your Life with J.T. Franks!

- Fuck you!

- J.T. Franks, you have come quite a long way,

despite a few bumps and bruises,

but I suppose that's to be expected

in any budding young chef.

And here we have your lovely assistant,

your lovely sidekick.

- Hey! Hey!

- A sidekick,

which I really ̶

I really think it's just what the show needed,

the incessant patter, the banal jokes.

Wouldn't you agree?

- You fucker!

- Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Franks,

that this is what the audience wanted?

- Come here!

- You know, I have something very special

planned for you later, very special,

and I really think you're going to love it.

- Don't fucking look at him!

- Mr. Franks?

- What?

- I think you should conserve your energy.

- Get the fuck out of here.

- You're going to need it.

I'll be doing the cooking tonight.

- You gotta just leave her out of it.

Look.

Fuck.

You think I ruined your career?

That's fine.

Just fucking do whatever you want to me.

I don't give a shit.

You just have to leave her out of it.

- Precisely, Mr. Franks.

It seems that no matter what I do to you now,

you just don't care anymore...

Which doesn't help me any.

Actually, it occurs to me that you really want to die.

Ergo, I can't just kill you; otherwise you win.

You see my dilemma.

But you wanted to live a few days ago.

I expect your wife will be the same way.

So I won't be telling her at first

what she's been eating.

I'll keep it seasonal, sustainable.

I don't know, maybe a crown roast

or barbecued ribs with a savory maple glaze.

You do look a little stringy,

perhaps braising might be the best.

Hell, I might even sample a little bit myself.

By the tree there, Mr. Franks, by the tree.

Yes.

Turn around, please.

Turn around.

All right, let's see those hands.

Up.

There we go.

All right.

You have...

three minutes starting now,

and then I'm coming after you.

- I haven't got a chance.

- Probably not.

- But you have less than an hour of daylight,

so I suggest you get at it.

♪♪

- 911. What is your emergency?

- I've been kidnapped. My name's Katherine.

I've been kidnapped.

My name is Katherine Franks.

- What is your exact location?

- I don't know. I don't know.

It's in the country somewhere.

- Are there any identifying landmarks?

Ma'am?

Ma'am, are you still there?

Are you still there?

- It's me! It's me!

Hey, it's me! It's me!

Hey! Hey, hey, hey.

It's okay.

We have to go get the car.

- No.

- Yes, we do.

We are in the middle of nowhere.

We have to go get the fucking car.

Okay?

Come on.

Fuck.

- We have to go back inside.

- No. No, we don't.

Let's run. No, we can't.

- We have to get the keys.

We have to get the keys.

We are gonna get out of here fine, okay?

Trust me.

Please, no. No, no, no.

- Oh, dear.

I am the Destroyer.

♪♪

- ♪ I'd give you ♪

♪ the ocean ♪

♪ I'd give you the sky ♪

♪ if I could ♪

♪♪

♪ I'd push it all back ♪

♪ between the sidewalk cracks of your neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ Neighborhood ♪

♪♪

♪ You'll go somewhere ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ I'll find you there ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ You'll go somewhere ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ I'll find you there ♪

♪ Somewhere ♪

♪ Soldiers of misfortune ♪