Berlin on the eve of war. A whole world about to tear itself apart.
Now that’s my kind of town.
So let us adorn ourselves with smoke and flame
drip blood rubies and pile up devotees like toy soldiers,
Everybody knows that everybody dies and nobody knows it like the Doctor. But I do think that all the skies of all the worlds might just turn dark if he ever for one moment, accepts it. Everybody knows that everybody dies. But not every day. Not today. Some days are special. Some days are so, so blessed. Some days, nobody dies at all. Now and then, every once in a very long while, every day in a million days, when the wind stands fair, and the Doctor comes to call… everybody lives.