We are the dead ones, we are the cold ones, we are the dry ones. For some say of us, "Their souls ride the winds;" and indeed everything in us is scattered and routed. We have been humbled (and it is an awful humiliation). We are the wild ones who swoop down into your dreams (we are the wild things in your dreams, the shapes and forms moved by angels in your dreams, the toys of angels in your dreams). There is no more joy or revelry for us, there are no more companions and times spent with lovers, there is no more lovely wine or lovely maids--we have been rent from everything, and we are the ones of whom it is said, "They have been taken down to the bottom of the earth," and indeed we do much harm to the insane. This book is our testimony, and there is nothing closed or concealed in these pages.