"I am a good man," I tell myself as I twist and turn in the cold night.
There in my bed I do lie: my demon's dance around my face;
in and out of my ears they flail and flurry - laughing as they go.
They whisper the dark and dangerous things -
things good men do not want to hear amongst their own thoughts.
For a time I thought that the good lord did make an angel of me,
until I snapped my innocence and cast it asunder in ignorance;
as I grew, my innards screamed at me to cease -
but temptation grips like an iron vice in that mind of mine
so lonely for so long - I am my own friend and enemy.
I can feel the desire to destroy myself glowing in my veins
to shred the very fabric of what I once was...
But I feel the urge and need to defend myself from me!
Never before has there been such conflict -
I can only hope that the devil inside is not natural,
that I may change once more into a guardian
and that I am forgiven for my insurmountable compulsions
Compulsions to be what I am not where I fe