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The Monster comes

in the still of the night

like mist across the alleys

Its spider legs

are tapping on the ground

Its jaws are slowly moving

with no sound

Gliding in the darkness,

worse than any fear

through silent stairs

and empty streets

the monster's drawing near...

And any time

you dream about the war

the crimson eyes shine brighter

And when you shout

until your throat gets sore

and fill your voice with hatred

it wants more

Waiting in the darkness,

feeding on your dread

the monster spins

its subtle web:

the Monster's in our head.