Again the Succubus calls, answered by my
willing compliance. I grab her by the hand, leading me further down
the cluttered path, not to peace. Taking the fake offerings,
momentary escapes that are void of relief, at the end of night.
Grabbing any Savior, please speak kind to me, sooth my ache and dark
thirst. There are no companions in this empty pursuit, I barely make it out
alive, who will follow me in my destruction? Holding the works of
addiction, I set up a fix that never satisfies, only to do it again
and again before the end of night. Many will lead me there, then
abandon my desperate body to its agonies of thought. There are no
tomorrows in this never land, dreams are abandoned on the altar of
deprecation. The birds sing, announcing their joy of morning,
spectators that look
on, mocking the death of ambition and hope, increasing my dread that comes, at the end of night.
Shake yourself my drugged soul, find your escape and run from the
pain that finds you; a great price is paid in
the dressings of celebrations that go on until the end of night. Caught again by the arrows of habit, striking me
with precision through the errant presumption of safe chambers that open in the end of
night. With no deliverance, shackles bind tighter with each twitch of
resistance. I lay down hoping for the end of night. To relieve myself
of these panicked flights, I seek sleep, now stolen, hidden from my
ever reaching mind; yet, I fight, until the end, of night.