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.