These visions of mine.
Their dark and dry.
I see myself
Standing next to a guy.
With a pen in my hand
He's done nothing wrong.
As I move towards the man,
As I whistle my song.
The song of death
As I take my pen.
And jab it in,
And watch his life end.
As someone pulls me off,
I take a look around,
And see this innocent Man there,
Lying dead on the ground.
Created by my hand,
This world of hate.
As I look around, I see him there.
It was all in my head,
I would never even dare.
Then as I for some reason,
Start to move toward him.
I stop myself.
And wonder what all this means.
Am I a killer inside?
A freak of all.
A person who can't resist themself.
Yet I'm so kind to all.
I couldn't hurt a fly,
SO this I wonder now,
Why Do I Feel This Way.
I don't know how.
