There's a little chicken leg with some feathers left on it... the yellow skin, the pointy fingernails, the stench from the coagulated blood now clears the smoke in my head: I now see it... it's the ACE OF SPADES falling from the talented hands of the man who goes by the name... CICO, Cico is the name everyone fear to hear... This name is fast as is the motorcycle, the grey steel horse with a thunderous voice, somewhat modified by the mechanical hands of a blonde god, now long forgotten. Where have you been? Sitting on a spanish shore, having visions of totems? Oh few can understand. You, my friend, are the one, the one and only. Now in the warmth of a dear creature, you are far from reach, yet I am pleased to know that you do remember indeed. God, Satan, Odin, Buddha, all have a place in someone's heart somewhere, somehow you do in mine.

The Mad Octopus who has lost is brain.