It’s a pretty litlle place to call home
a burnt out shell when you’re rotting and gone
a box full of lies, buzzing like flies – sick and intense
a sorrow that simmers, a suffocating incense

Cut your fingers to bleeding stumps
your thoughts clatter round and around, and jump -
it’s all in your head, in your self-destructing mind
you run and run but can’t leave it behind

It follows, devilish and deceptive
your shadow, one ego a blade merciful and acceptive
again you burn the flesh to forget you’re still sane
but you can never escape your own pain

What’s done is done but never forgiven
who am I to play god, I get what I’m given –
if I give in to my insanity, to my fascinations and fears
tell me; will I sleep tonight with no sign of tears?