The killer lives inside me: yes, I can feel him
move.
Sometimes he's lightly sleeping in the quiet of his
room,
but then his eyes will rise and stare through mine;
he'll speak my words and slice my mind inside.
Yes the killer lives
Angels live inside me: I can feel them smile
How can I be free?
How can I get help?
But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes of
gloom
and Death's Head throws his cloak into the corner
of my room
and I am doomed
But laughing in my courtyard play the pranksters of my