Think of a monster You name it? I’ve been it Been a hell of a ride, but I’m in it The birth of a king is the death of a cynic I might be good-- but just give me a minute
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Think of a monster You name it? I’ve been it Been a hell of a ride, but I’m in it The birth of a king is the death of a cynic I might be good-- but just give me a minute

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[This is kind of the sound I imagine whenever The Kind Devil deigns to speak. Chagatai’s voice with this soft, fluttering, scraping but not grating noise.]
More and more he dreamt of light Blinding, oppressive, all-encompassing It stole into the depths of the waters, bleached the mountaintops Gave snow a searing brightness Burned him alive And his shadow would twist in the wind like a dried leaf in autumn Soon ripped from him as from a branch Singed, curling in on itself, fibers blackening A thread of some greater whole Destroyed