He knows your joys,
He knows your sadness.
He knows your vulnerabilities,
He knows your helplessness.
He comes in close, he comes in quickly.
He, the Whisperer.
His face is covered in darkness,
Nothing to be seen but a sinister smile;
Dressed in your clothing,
Dressed in who you are.
You cannot outrun him, nor can you **** him.
He, the Whisperer.
He is a reflection in a broken mirror,
Twisted upon everything you are.
He slowly creeps, upon your ears,
Reciting your worst fears.
You cannot escape his trances,
He, the Whisperer.
He feeds upon your worsts,
He grows in your chaos.
He chuckles when you cry,
His laughter, growing louder, and louder.
You cannot make him cease,
He, the Whisperer.
He appears when you least expect him,
He vanishes when you stir insane;
Insane with anger,
Insane with sorrow.
He manipulates you endlessly,
He, the Whisperer.
He'll never go away.
He'll never be astray.
He'll be wherever you are.
He'll be the man behind the strings.
He'll make you bend to his will.
He, the Whisperer.
I guess, this is depression...