"Proud of yourself, little man? Proud of all those words that gushed out from between those, what did you call those necrotic threads then? lips? What's that sound you are making? Is it music? Is it song? Are you singing to me!? How sweet. Look, here, it is singing for us!"
"I burn you. So, you burn. Tell yourselves whatever stories you find pleasing. Stories which fan the flames. So you burn. I burn you."
. . . silence . . .
bliss
"I burn you. So, you burn. Tell yourselves whatever stories you find pleasing. Stories which fan the flames. So you burn. I burn you."
. . . silence . . .
bliss
