“Why are the birds angry? Why couldn't they just have had Happy Birds? Allahu ackbar.”
BIRD IS THE WORD
One night I could not take it any more. My razor I from my dresser grabbèd, and opened my left wrist, with my closed right, that writing right which now wrote “FIN” in great red letters, upon my walls and clothing. And so here I am. The cell you’ve put me in sits empty, aside from this lone tomb. Oh my Lord, my King, in fear I cast you away, but you shall be returned, your throne shall be restored, and I shall end your exile. Oh my Lord, my King, will you not reclaim your place at the head? In ruin there is pride, in sorrow there is hope. The King shall return as the seven stars revolve. He must.