Each space is a crawl space for the fiend
Wee hour predator painting our dreams with unnecessary ghast
Crossing the dark room like a dictator before imminent war
breathing on our cheeks and blaming us for the state of their reality
The whoosh of angry air can wake a man
Anger finds no hooks though
Fear no coldness
The demon is in it´s crawl space gargling
The hunting saviours of the night
Break nightsweats and paralysis
Dismantle bad dreams and return Faith
That night demon as naked as an oil stain in a puddle
SHALL BE NO MORE
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