I ruminate on my passion's decay,
amidst the ruin and rubble of life.
Existence is a morality play,
in which man's soul is given to the knife.
Within this shattered shell I sit and brood,
waiting for day to end and night to fall.
My old thirst for vengeance has been renewed,
bitterness and spite from my heart does crawl.
My influence extends across the land,
with a creeping cold that curdles the soul.
All heed the direction of my command,
for my will is all that will make them whole.
I reach into them and feed on their dreams,
twisting their dream until it's a nightmare.
I glory in the sound of anguished screams,
for when they look inside themselves, I'm there.
I enjoy their pounding hearts and cold sweat,
inducing as I do thoughts perverted.
Their terror I play like a minuet,
leaving their psyche so disconcerted.
I instigate madness, mayhem, and war,
causing untold misery and sorrow.
I am the worst face of all you abhor,
everything you will hide from tomorrow.
Into the lives of the wicked I creep,
malice is the cornerstone of despair.
Their waking life becomes mine while they sleep,
such is the will of the Living Nightmare.
Shall I indulge in flights of fancy hampered by clipped wings?