The Dark Room (Hallucinations of My Doom)

Let me tell you the story of a tale of a fairy A secret entombed in clandestine sinistrality It all began when the first of an army of raindrops Shattered the crimson dawn... A voice called: “I am your thoughts which never rot I am the thoughts whom you never forgot” I retorted: “Stalk not your sanguine fingers Hemorrhaged from the mountain stream, To bedevil and curse And embitter my sweetest dreams!” Next I knew I awoke in a dark room Not knowing what I did or will do It was the malignancy of the first Frost After the summer of love Never did I find the source of the voice The impetus: hallucinations? Was my first choice If I had to decide how I’d make sense Of my subconsciousness I put two and two together But the result wasn’t four me I still hunger for the genesis Which drew my haunted sleep Like carriages It turned hard to tell which way I heard a yell Every direction which did suggest was fruitless for my rest I said to myself groggily, “I wish to return to slumber, But alas my heartbeat’s a greater number Than I am accustomed” As I suddenly awoke the air felt filled with smoke The lights burned out and I could hear again the shout Of that bloke, that very same bloke Orating such unnerving things as before when it spoke It was then I distinguished The dog’s head beast; Fatigued from anxiousness, I finally returned to sleep... I still hear their echo (I still hear their echo I still hear their echo I still hear their echo I still hear their echo I still hear their echo I still hear their echo) “Be still, my weary soul...”