Her hands... her poor beautiful hands...
A bloodied finger...sliding across the black,
Reddening and streaking eternally...
Please do not close your eyes now
Where can I look without them?
Number 3, I am desperate...
You've stared too long at these pages in grief,
Not knowing what to do...
I know you are there,
I KNOW YOU ARE THERE...
It was your mere thought that brought us to ruin
My very soul trapped when alive
In this wasteland of dead
You clung to her like the talons of my killer
Your subconscious drained her
Controlling me like a puppet
Now streaked with her innocent blood
Drained from the cold eyes of your mind
Her poor struggling, straggling thinning body
You could not stop
You could not wake
Because you did not wish to wake
Who are you?
Who are you...?