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.
