Comfort
oh! how my demons rage. they howl and scream, and always seem to get what
they must crave. i stand a child before the storm, plastic sword in hand. to fight
the fight i cannot win, to make another stand. and every day, in every way, was
harder than the last. how melancholy this life is, when drowned amidst my
laughs...i stand a child, before the storm, and hear my demons call. what good
are prayers and teddy bears to little boys at all...
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