It watches me, a single eye
Exaggerated to near ridiculous size
But its attitude is quite serious
A hunger there, that knows no bounds
 Behind it a consciousness delirious
An ill will emanates for miles around

Its guts churn but it has no mouth
Tendrils branch fractally out
 From dendrites linked and pathways kinked
To squirm into the minds of men

They sit on the edges of perception
A vague unease cast over the soul
Which then, recognized, grows deeper
Madness is born, a ghastly conception

The men of the desert tell tales of him
They call him Lie, Ahriman.
I know him well, and I know that when I die
I shall once again see the Evil Eye.