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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.
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