And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. ~The Ainulindale

The Theme does not appeal to Melkor. He feels cheated; to not make a Theme of his own devising and instead making variations upon a Theme made by another. All around him (in the timeless and immaterial manner of celestial beings), his brothers and sisters are singing. They sing of mighty waters and mountains and plants and the winds all of which have yet to be. The Theme almost vanishes; but Melkor can hear it thrumming under all the Music like a heartbeat. He hates it and begins to sing.

He sings of great fires to burn away Ulmo's waters and cold to make them as hard as Aule's rocks. He sings of animals that bite and sting and of plants that are poison to the Children. He takes the Theme and twists it in on itself like a tormented creature. He chops out great sections of it and flings in notes of random choosing. No longer is it music. It is a cacophony like a million voices crying out in terror. Like stones cracking and the sea rising beyond its appointed place. He can hear other voices singing along with him. The Theme is still there, just under all the noise. So Melkor sings louder. Desperately louder. He can hear the other themes. Faltering. Wavering. Fading into silence. Cut off abruptly. Chaos is beautiful, but it's not his chaos. The Theme is still THERE; though it be buried and almost lost. It bends ever towards the One. Towards Eru. Then Eru raises his own voice and all else falls silent.