Hot breath on my neck, hairs standing straight. Dim light.
Shadows moving in the corner of my eye.
I am the man. I am nothing.
Footsteps, far away, but getting nearer. A shining light, the morning star, coming to save me. The smell of baby powder, from a long forgotten memory, comes to me.
The whimpering of a small child, a gentle voice.
"Whose's a good girl, Alice? Whose a good girl?"
We must not look goblin men, we must not buy their fruits.
Those snake eyes, green and sinister, cloud me vision.
Who knows upon what soil they fed.
The feeling of rope around me neck, twisted in a noose.
Their hungry thirsty roots...