Imagine, that youíre waiting with a friend,
The room is warm with chairs and magazines.
You hear some footsteps then a sort of scream,
A name is called, you answer, itís not yours.
You stand, and walk a red line round a bend.
And suddenly youíre running down a hall,
Youíve passed the passage that you want to take
But cannot stop; Thereís something in your wake
That makes you turn, you turn and nothingís there,
Youíre running and thereís nothing there at all.
You turn again, this time you turn knowing,
It is still there behind you: as your chin
Turns back across your shoulder; as within
Your face starts to feel the fear it's showing.
You must go, but donít know where youíre going.
And still you run, but now you want to hide,
Youíre fast but never far enough away.
You want to stop, you want to stop and say
ďWhy me?Ē Then slow enough to understand
Youíre really being followed from inside,
And cannot turn the hand or eye within
To pick the vicious molecules apart,
Or separate your tortured heart from heart.
And still you run, and still your heart is raw.
You know because youíre running through your skin.
You know because youíre running down a vein.
You see the desperate massacre of blood,
You feel the brutal slaughter of the god
That fights vast battles for you every day.
You try to speak, you speak but youíre insane.
You try to think and then you try to scream.
Youíre lying in a coffin wrapped in wire,
The music ends and now you hear the fire.
It burns in chords which echo through the steam.
Youíre suddenly awake. Itís not a dream,
Because once more youíre waiting with a friend
In such a room with chairs and magazines,
You hear some footsteps then you hear a scream,
A name is called you answer, itís not yours.
With time, youíll know exactly how it ends.
Time will tell exactly how it ends.
Written by StaveleyJ
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