Such is the way of things
That all men will have demons
Some one, others two
Then there are those with legions

Those haunting regrets
That slither up in the morning hours
In the cold sweats and lightless dreams
That call when you least wish to answer
That knock on doors you'd rather keep shut
That whisper, talk, with whimpers and screams

Those tired old weeping wounds
With smiles in mouths full of rotten teeth
No, look upon this miserable world and despair
Look upon that which we have made
See the rot, filth and pestilence
The very disease we bring into the air

I see you