"You burned the book!" exclaimed a resentful voice.
A sudden stench of scorched paper flickered in my nostrils, then all of the nerve-endings of the skin on my upper torso protested and registered pain, as if flames were licking at the flesh up to my shoulders.
"You were that book," continued the voice, "And you burned it."
Kecharitomene: music and musings, with many possible layers of meanings, composed and performed by Loreena McKennit.
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