There he is,waiting and
Watching the storm come in.
The clouds roll in like tumble weeds.
Thunder rocks the muddy banks,
While Wishkah lives
With its live scene.

There he is.
Uninviting to the casual passerby.
Appealing to the trained lady eye.


His situation is easy to fall into.
You will slip into the abyss,
Where everything is black and
The voices in your head become real.
He will peal the pale off your skin,
Pick you up and force you in.
Force you down and lie you flat.
Scrapes off lies from you lips.
Scalpel to cheek, he takes you in.

The blur sets in
And there he is.

The final howling begins.
The thunder meets the wind.
In detox, feeling like a small man.
He drops you into a crate box.