Standing close to you.
He does not care whether you live or die,
He wants you dead.
You said that word he hates.
You said it loud and clear.
He's got that look on his face,
That look of murderous rage.
He has those knives in his hands,
They're his favorite, or so I hear.
Sitting on a shelf,
Are the voices only he can hear.
One tells him to kill,
One tells him to die,
And still another tells him to do neither.
"I need you blood for the wall,
Or the monster shall break free."
"No! Please don't kill me!
Raises the knives.
And slits your throat.