Footsteps

The footsteps in my head, Have come to tell me I am dead. Chasing me through darkened halls. Scraping wetly on the walls. Coming for me here instead, Are these footsteps in my head. Coming through the red and black. Ripping me from front to back. All around me, rolled me round. Listening to the bells that bound. Echoes from a chamber nigh. Telling me and knowing why. That the footsteps in my head, Have come to ask me why I fled. And though they’ve come to rescue me, From all the waste of life I be. I try to run, I try to hide, Keeping track of time I bide. If you knew, you know you could. If I knew, I know I would. So now the steps they lightly go. And I have nothing left to show. That the footsteps in my head, Have come and told me I am dead Even time will end itself, If seen through the eyes of the wise.