Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
ASSISTA VIDEO NOVO QUE ESTA NO GARAGEM DO FAUSTAO, LINK ABAIXO E PARA VOTAR ABRAÇO!SE FOR POSSIVEL PASSE PARA GALERA, COM BASTANTE ACESSO A GENTE ENTRA NA TV.