I sometimes wonder
What my demons say,
What they plot, and how they play
Out their schemes, and wicked dreams,
I'm oblivious to the signs;
Careful running on stepping stones,
Some of them are landmines.

They may say

Sleep my child, and when you wake
The world will quake, and souls will shake.
They'll know your name, but they
Wont know the game you play.
You're twisted and tormented,
Living in a hell space,
And the highest form of punishment
Is cloaking through your face.
Hiding all the scars, that surely should appear,
Just so all the people say
His head is surely clear.
He needs no aid, he'd never trade
His life for any other,
He's happy, healthy, fit and fine
All thanks to the mother.

But there are things inside of me
A creature and a cure,
And until my mind sparks sanity,
I keep quiet, till im sure.
That there are things
That speak to me,
And so I sit here, singing,
Quietly.
They're sleeping, and I'd hate for them to wake.