It's twenty minutes to Midnight,
almost time for me to hate myself again.
Twenty minutes, and the clock is ticking
till I'll be hunted by you again.
Already I can smell you creeping,
taste you slithering up and out
of the past like some broken nightmare.
Some nights you've got the upper hand,
and others I can hold my own ground,
but neither of us can seem to outright
vanquish the hope in the other.
Were it fated for you and I,
to battle on for all eternity,
it just may be that I could jive,
nay, savy and roll with that.
But you, you've been putting your hooks
into my love's and my dear ones,
you've been putting your ****
in holes that don't belong to you.
Haunting hearts in need of repairs,
forcing your crooked smile
and your fingers made of knives
into places bleeding enough without you.
Come then, if monster enough ye may be,
to face me fully and let us end this
macabre dance in the old way,
have at me, and leave her to the
quiet love of the light of day.