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Assailed by ever returning nightmares |
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silent as a moths wings |
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yet cruel and violent, a dwelling place of demons |
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and other seemingly more tender things. |
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But their fragile appearence deceive |
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they come, they come, it calls |
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surely worthy of my outmost fear |
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ragged little dolls |
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Tiny little feet, tiny little hands |
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tiny little still heart |
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shiny stearing marbled eyes |
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Who goes there? come forth |
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from the shadows, let me see |
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trembling with fear but still that is my wish |
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because no dream can ever hurt me. |
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In the pale moonlight a most hideous face |
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laughing hysterially, more and more |
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yet underneath, a whitering reflection |
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of a beauty that once was there. |
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Awakened by screams, mu own it seems |
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and the rumbling sound |
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of the rain, a thin stream of blood |
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from where her hand touched |
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I dear not fall asleep, ever again... |
