Music:crown me king- die, you fucking woodcutter, die!
gather round the dying embers of this star, o my faithless friends, & i will tell ye a tale. or well, actually, to be quite frank with you? i spool my threads on secret spindles, i wrap them round & round until all is. well, mine. for we spiders forever spin, weave, & entrap. even when all is dark & darksome more & deeper dark still. hey, don't look at me. this long coda for your world is simply the overture on my story. as soon as the musical interlude is over, i'm going to go back into that theatre & make john booth look like a punk. but let me not hog all the glory of this circle. you've all played a part in this short, bittersweat, & ultimately pointless symphony. don't shoot those dirty looks at me! i am not the librettest to this stupid story. all i can contribute are a few scraps, notes. witches like salt, the colour of animating magic is blue. those sorts of secrets, baroque & as intricately notched as any key. oh well, let us dwell here on the smallest of nostalgias. didn't the coachman who took oliver twist to fagan's have a snuff-box shaped like a coffin? & i am almost out of these terrible "bitters."