Wee hours of the morning, I writhe as I write
My soul is tortured, and I'm drawing blanks
There is something here in the deepest of night
Will my muse appear, if I drop and give thanks?

Black shadow of perspective, hidden from me
I know you lurk there in the back
I stand on tip-toe, trying to see
Looking through a small jagged crack

I hear whispers of presence, I know you are there
There is horror in this unsleeping room
The empty halls don't lead anywhere
I stumble, flail away to my doom

I have called my demons once too often, I think
Rattled their cages and fled
I'm afraid of the shower, I smell of fear, I stink
In the bathroom, there's someone who's dead

All his skin is shriveled, his eyes turned up in
His mouth is hung open, his blood down the drain
He's missing the flesh from his right bony shin
I think zombies have eaten his brain

There must be one monster left, one who still lives
Unholy terror on squealing wheels
The kind of evil, that gives and gives
With a little help from Satan's deals

Come out from the closet, out from under the bed
Don't hide, it's too late, I can find you
"Cause you're all right here, in my little head
Com'on you got a real job to do

If this does'nt do it, this poem of mine
Satisfy the thirst of the darkside
I will swallow my pride; the last of my wine
Get under the covers, and hide