I live in a cocoon. I insulate. It's cold out there. It's dim too. Very dim. So I live in a cocoon. So that I may see what's out there more clearly. So that I may see at all. So that I may feel at all. So that I may hone my senses. So that I may know my self. So that I may alter my defenses. So that I may go out at all. So that I may be without all the noise and influence rattling. I live in a beautiful cocoon where I must wear neither wing nor mask, like I do when I'm forced to go outside of it, when I'm forced to march and push through the din as I do. My cocoon is being crashed. Today. Tomorrow day. And maybe the day after that. So what am I to do? Nothing. My cocoon is being crashed, penetrated, pierced, slashed. Am I burning? What do I do? Nothing. Without my cocoon what am I? Nothing. I cease to be while my cocoon is being crashed. Where do I go? With wing and mask? No. Leave the wings, wear the mask. Just a little more. Just a little while longer. Fear. You pierce. You slash. You'd have me shrink yet I grow. Fear. Please. I got you. I got you right where I want you. I just wrote a hole right through you. The hole's where the chain goes. Oh, don't fret. I'll take good care of you. I'll seat you at the big table and feed you with or to the others. Oh, don't worry. You have my favor and I'll kindly introduce you. But before I do we must rename you.