I have the soul of a conqueror, an angel, thousands of demons, a wild brutish savage, a mad witch, an unhappy author and an old Shaman made of bones in the clouds. A murdered Victorian era child, a small, mischievous boy. Riches and wealth, a beautiful mother with the face of a starlet, I would dream of playing in the cold stone courtyard, to pull the wings from butterflies, I spent most of my life in a sick-room, someone raped and killed my mother, broke my skull with an axe handle out of meanness, I never listen to anyone but God.