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