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I'm afraid of the monster under the bed and in the closet 

I'm afraid of the lycanthropes who just like all our hopes were once beautiful and now who roped us in and now savagely  

 enloped with the vampires and the liars and like the fires of desires, now we burn in funeral pyres
Because it's the dark that makes us look into our hearts,

oh mrs. Hart the art teacher with a gun in her mouth and no one could reach her, the teacher who only wanted to to be the breacher  of all the famed darkness, like a famine of the mind she succumbed, the bills like giant hills filled her with dread so she cleared her head

like ghouls all the fools in class who grew so fast and in their last moments the components fit so they screamed about what they dreamed and then when it fits it hit and it hurt cuz the undead hopes fed on their dreams 

 The vampires we hired and fired play the lyre at our full moon with a tune old as a rune next to our tomb.

And I'm not afraid of the dagger because I'm so haggard, haggard of my life and my strife which is rife 

but that's life I'm told so never fold, hold my hand because we can and we'll fly in the face of life and never land, 

yet I'm still afraid of the mirror under the bed and in the closet and in the dark. 

It feeds on my heart this part because the zombies and ghouls and vampires were always real because THAT'S how we feel, that's the deal so yes the monsters are real but so are our dreams. 
Darkness is the best mirror because you can only see yourself


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