There's a funny little story I'd like to tell you,
a story of never-ending madness.
That thing that lies a-waiting in the dark,
waiting to attack a troubled mind
and make you wish that you were dead
because your aching head is full of voices.
Listen, can you hear the voices?
They're saying that I'm gone from you,
But does that mean I'm dead?
Or is it just this madness?
My dear ones are often on my mind,
but I can't see any of them in the dark.
I've never been a stranger to the dark,
and I've had so many different voices;
the child, coward, the trickster, all in my mind.
But I'm forgetting the man, the voice that is for you,
my flicker of light. And you must think it madness,
for a man to have four faces, not a single one dead.
Weird things play when day is dead.
Like spiders, spinning cobwebs in the dark.
Spinning, spinning, spinning madness!
But they scatter to the sound of the grating voices-
No! Hush, hush now or they will find you!
Don't speak, just hide, in a corner of your mind.
"Listen, listen, dearie's lost his mind!"
Don't you hear them? Help me, please, kill them dead!
They burn like fire, sting like-ha! I saw you!
You flinched, dearie! You're afraid of me, of the dark.
That is wise. The world cries with a thousand voices.
It's a wonder we don't all succumb to madness.
I don't think...I can't...I can't fight the madness.
No room, no room, too much clutter in my mind!
They're so many, so loud, I can't quiet the voices!
I've suffered so, why am I not yet dead?
My world is dissolving, sinking into the dark.
But I would not grieve, if I were you.
All these voices in my head, will be quiet once I'm dead.
And if your mind falls prey to demons dark,
remember this; feed on the madness and it'll feed on you.