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I am not citing my dreams, and I am not accustomed to lie;
These visions of past nights in flesh epitomised
In flesh yet not mortal, divine yet beyond grace;
Oh, these visions of horror shan't be bestowed a face

If only I could make return from where my journals trespassed the line
Where shadows turn tangible, and might just slip inside
The most desolate of prophecies, spewn out from my own quill
Now this sheet a crossing where my poor mind and the unseen ones would meet

Spectres of humanity, disincarnate...
Remnants of my sanity scattered on membranous wings

"From behind the curtain something has indeed entered
My nightmares mixed into my wake like some fluid
In my room, something constantly watching, unseen but certain
I can tell you, from the chill that went down my spine
Something's there...

Should I be able to break free from these chambers
I could never break free of these demonic memoirs
And eventually my soul, my spirit and my love
They would eviscerate"

I am not citing my dreams, I can only spare you the truth
And advise you avoid me and the demons in my room

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