The overgrown mould on my back felt foul
Those ugly eyes turning heads like owls
Their sight invading us like Vikings
Pillaging my mental landscapes to their liking
The Ravens of higher morale feeding on my soul
Leaving my hands stained with blood , turning into a ghoul
Wearing the cold iron clad
Impaling all my thaughts like Vlad
Laying helpless on my bed
Precieving all the lies I've been fed
Running towards the light from the room stained with red
Coming to my senses, figuring my own head