I wos a secrit shy and tungtied emptyheded thing. I wos tort to
read and rite and spell by my tenda littl muther & by Mr
McCaufrey the butcha & by Missus Malone and her gosts. So I am
not cleva, so please forgiv my folts and my mistayks. I am the won
that glares into your harts & that prowls insyde yor deepist
dremes. Wonce I was The Anjel Childe. Now I am The Monster. Just
read and lissen and take note. Let the words enter yor blud &
boans. I am Billy Dean. This is the truth. This is my tale.