There\'s a tree in my roof and it eats away at my brain when i stare up at it every night as it nears the witching hour when the trolls prowl the street and eat the little children that bearly satisfies thier hunger. And witches ride around on thier brooms across the slivery light of the bright shining half-moon. The giants peek into the second story windows and bring sweet and horrifying dreams to everyone. The eye waits outside my window and it knows that i am not asleep. It knows i am lying here wide awake as the three-eyed mosters prowl the street looking for thier magnificent destructions, and while the lizard people slither between empty allies trying not to be seen. Even though there is no one there to see them because they all have been cast into a deep sleep. Everyone, but me. I hold the blanket tight as i hear the frightful screeches of the pigmy devils that stand high on the buildings because they are so tired of being small. Then they jump ontp the half-pig half-man strangers that walk with a sinister swing. And i stare up at that tree in my roof while the horrid sounds of the bustling monsters riot on the world. The world is thier playground when the witching hour is in session. And i stare up at that tree that eats away at my brain.
