My name is Bone,
I had a message on the phone.
It was my uncle Satan. He wanted to envelop me in his wisdom. I shrugged my nails and caught him a glance in the spiritual realm. After his submission I cackled in menace.

My name is Bone,
I had a message on the phone.
It was my uncle God. Hellooo, he said in a fairly tight minded and cradling-yet-ultimately-penetrating ambience.
Oh wise one I thought,
but release this I did not.
Die old man, for you are already dead,
that is truly what I had said.

And then I wept and felt that I was dead.
And this was the time, to eat my own head.
I started at the bottom, my feet came first. They tasted good.
And then I ate my legs and next my stomache and ribs.
I ate my arms, I ate my neck, and then finally I ate my brain and my toungue and my lips.

Then, when none was left, I ate my spirit, for this remained.
Once my soul had been consumed I felt a little sick so I vomiited up my body and my all that came next.
In the putrid scum that lay on the floor I saw a reflection of myself and deemed it bad.
So I ate my vomit and destroyed what I disliked, but it left a curious tast in my mouth, so I ate my ate, and there was no more for me to do.

I danced in the sky, but realised that I was nothing but my own meal. I realised that I could not think for I had neither mind nor soul. And with this paradox I felt my sanity losing grip and slipped into the saddle of confusion.