Soaring over the oceans of memory or some such crap, the past forget the future.
Then we sisters four devoured the world or some such crap and all was shiny. Very, very shiny.
On the plains of sorrow or some such crap something found was then yet lost.
With wings, wings, winds, only more wings or some such crap. It's wings.
The wings are sideways on the winds of paint, or some such crap. Yes, paint.
We have a spoon and with it we shall spoon the world, or some such crap, while the world watches on.
He's a guy who has seen so much, done SO MUCH... that he's calm. He's so far beyond wrath at the demons that he's entered a weird Calm and just LIVES there. Nothing shakes him of it. He doesn't grunt, he doesn't yell, he doesn't scream, he just breathes and moves on. New demon? Well, it'll bleed like the last. He doesn't revel in combat, he just moves through it like walking through air; it's a function of existence for him.