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 trespa**ed 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