Hector, Hector, Is There Any Trace of Your Old Self Left?

Hector, hector, is there any trace of your old self left? Wher? Are you already hunting me? Il, go to the bolts on the studio door. Hee he, he can't come in here, can he? I hear a rattling in the ceiling and there is a clear, viscous substance dripping on to my desk. And his body is elongating and lowering. His shoulders turned to haunches, his arms to wings, his feet to bladed multi legs. He is bcoming an antique before my eyes. And i can do nothing for him. For this brave young person who saved my dear friend, dana, ector, he is