I dream of wicked things.
Spliced together with feathers of woe
I am told that this is not normal
But I gather clouded screams like candy
And wave them in my head
I know I am far from sane but
I doubt I am better off dead
I dream of such wicked things
Spilled with feathers of old
I am told I am nowhere near normal
But I gather clouded being that matter
And keep them in my head
I know that I am far from sane but
Such things only matter when you are dead