To feed, or not to feed, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The bombs and specials of outrageous proportion,
Or to take arms against an entire team
And by opposing end them. To feed—to suffer,
No more; and to feed to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand unintentional deaths
That a frontline is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to feed;
To feed, perchance to wipeout—ay, there's the rub:
For in that charge of death what ego may come.
