YOU CAN'T BE AFRAID...IF YOU'RE A NIGHTMARE YOURSELF

It's not uncommon to wake up chained to a wall.

Your intentions,my friend,I'm sure are at fault.

I've lived for months consuming only rage.

Perhaps my own blood,as a bonus to chase.

See,I've learned long ago,how to empty my soul,

and retrieve it when needed,to fit in with most.

Your dungeon's my garden,your tools are my toys.

Your head is my playground,A circus of noise.

I can find music in torturous screams.

Or sunshine in fire,and fun in disease.

Fear has a flavor,and yours is so sweet.

Pain is my comfort,if I want it to be.

So cut out my tongue,my eyes,and my heart.

I'll still speak with hatred,and see beyond the dark.

Just as you think,that you have any chance.

The chains are on you,my blood still on your hands.

In weightless dimensions defined as alone.

I pick up my pieces,whistling all the way home.



As your hollow shell...

whistles back...

in the wind.