This one weird trick's enough to bring you wealth; But minds beyond the bounds of mortal ken Its weirdness calls — a scent as sweet to them As rotting flesh, to flies that plunder health. The bankers hate it — have done since the Change. When first they found this boundless well of gold, They funded firms, to pump all they could hold, And stained their souls forever with the Strange. The madness struck before they knew its name, And bathed the empires they'd built in blood. The outcasts, and the young, escaped the flood To face the horror that their kin became. The well is sealed, but nothing cleans the stain. Those souls will break, if it flows free again.
Some villains are born evil, some are forced into it, and some embrace it wholeheartedly.
It is by choice I take an evil path; By choice I'll pay my price when it falls due. Until that day, I'll not forget to laugh, And live the more because my days are few. I worry not about my coming fate. Perhaps I'll die; I'd go without regret. Perhaps for death I'll years in boredom wait. I only know I'll honour what is set. Until that day, I'll show the world I'm mad. I'll paint the cities pink! I'll weave the roads! I'll start a truly stupid clothing fad; Fill every thirteenth mailbox with toads. I'll stories leave, for those who do not die, And all who come to read them will ask "Why?!"