They say it starts. It does. Without question, it starts. There's just no explanation. For its animation.
Created out of the thinnest air this side of the Himalayas.
We're prophets with smallish lungs and impish hands.
We don't create.
We pop and fizzle like fat in the pan. Scorch scent. That's our calling.
Burned down houses is the way it starts.
It's all over now.
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