I live with a monster...He lives under my bed...
There's one inside the closet, plus the one thats in my head...
Theres one more I should mention; He's the one that you should fear..
He's the one that stares back at me..From the otherside of the mirror...


Everyone sees Marcus as Calm and Collected, The Average Joe Persona Perfected...
No real family Drama to Mess With, His Father and his Mom are Respected...
They were Pillars of the Community, as well as Leaders in the Church...
His Mom did the bake sales one sunday, Dad was a Pastor, a True Believer in his Work...
While Marcus did well in school n Excelled at Sports...Never reguarded as the Hellion Sort...
As a Teenager he Rebelled of Course, But nothing that landed him in Jail or Court..
In highschool he liked to Read and Write, Voted most likely to Succeed at Life...
At college; He was Perceived as Bright, The guy you would go to when you Need Advice...
By all accounts, He was Honestly Flawless, No Associations with the Dishonest or Lawless..
His Record was cleaner than a Monastry's Wall Is, He was Uncommonly Polished...
But behind this Nice Facade, there's a Darker Side that Marcus Hides...
That's cold blooded, Ice for Veins, with a Heart Inside thats Charred n Fried...
He lives Ensnared in Doubt; You see theres a monster with which he Shares his House..
But this monster never tries to Scare his Spouse, or even Dare Arouse..
The slightest suspicion that it Even Exists...So no one knows of this Heathen of His...
N' how it Sqeezes n' Twists at his willpower, Or sees the scars that it Leaves on his Wrists..
Even Marcus finds himself Tending to Steer away from his conscience, so he can Pretend that its Clear...
And yet Marcus still Winces in Fear, every time he catches a Glimpse of the Mirror...


I live with a monster...He lives under my bed...
There's one inside the closet, plus the one thats in my head...
Theres one more I should mention; He's the one that you should fear..
He's the one that stares back at me..From the otherside of the mirror...


Its two in the morning, Marcus stares at his reflection, waiting for the Fear to Show...
But it doesnt come...So he zips up his jacket, takes a last glance at the Mirror and Goes..
Out into the moonlights Eerie Glow...Its so quiet and still, it sets a Peaceful Vibe...
But that tranquility is Deceitful Lie...Because nights like this are when the Beast's Alive...
Its narrow eyes; it Keeps em Wide, searching for an opening it can Sneak Inside..
In the darkness the Beast Resides; Sticking to the shadows he Creeps n' Hides...
Suddenly the beast Stops and Moans.."Ah yes.."...a window someone Forgot to Close...
He'd bet they would have nailed it shut if they had only known what the Monster Knows...
It climbs in and almost knocks over a Box of Clothes; He listens, but the sound doesnt Wake em Up...
The beasts heart starts to Race and Thud..He licks his lips, he can almost Taste the Blood...
His teeth and knife clenched; Prepared for Violence as he creeps up the Stairs in Silence..
He passes a door covered in pink stickers...Poor kid, She'll never again feel her Parent's Vibrance..
Probally an Adoring Daughter; He stops at the last door..from inside the sound of a Snoring Father...
He busts in its a Gory Slaughter..Blood flows like a busted sink thats Pouring Waterr\\...
They'll never live to a Ripe Age... Atleast he judges by the blood on his Knifes Blade..
He stands and starts to clean his knife as he watches their eyes glaze as there Life Fades...
There death is Savagely Clear..The news tomorrow will talk about the Massacre Here...
Marcus heads for the daughters room, and he can help but smile as he Passes the Mirror...



I live with a monster...He lives under my bed...
There's one inside the closet, plus the one thats in my head...
Theres one more I should mention; He's the one that you should fear..
He's the one that stares back at me..From the otherside of the mirror...


When I was twenty one, it was a very good year
It was a very good year for city girls who lived up the stair
With all that perfumed hair and it came undone
When I was twenty one

They said he had a frequency like some white noise that carried itself along
Buried in wealth, money couldn't buy happiness, he lived vicariously with song
Every stanza was a minúte movement, he likely wasn't good at expression
The highest notes captured him, the lowest notes understood his depression
On the brim of regression, his passive aggression attaches a lesson explained
As a passionate quest to answer the message, a rite of passage is a testament gained
No home - no family - simply, a vagabond with a softer soul and a subtle caution
From rubble, stones and bones broke, but nothing more important than the one he lost when...
...that mourning began - a collapsed lung from collapsed ceilings, shrill screams
The new soundtrack to his hardened shell, the muse of music now nothing, but still scenes
And so he thought of her, thinking from time to time that this riddle connects
Tears stream down the face of a man whose eyes dwindled down to a ripple effect
In giving respects, he mutters sweet nothings through a whispering breath
Just praying that the clock could wind back, without revisiting his vision of death
That mind like a prism, never confined as a prison - shine light in the darkness
Pint-sized as an artist making parchment the last resort for the might he could harness
But he was life-like; juxtaposed with a mannequin's stare and hipster clothes
Mixing those feelings of emotion with others of tension while he wished for growth
Disgusted, he trusted none, but befriended many on the path to a distant cove
Where oceans crush salt in his wounds underlining the face that his grimace wove
Through the grimmest known tragedies, he lifted gold and shifted goals casually
Never taking a minute to choose, no minute to lose, the only limit he knows naturally
...is the sky, once that fell, his heart sank deep when the reaper was coming
Cause the weakness of man is falling short of glory through the demons we summon
But the reason we run is the same reason we hide our secrets in dungeons
The people mean nothing, they feast with their eyes and eat for consumption
And he was not of this world, no foreign language - still lost in translation
He believed in right, morality never seems to die alone in a spot of stagnation
So then who is he? He is you and me, he is a human-being...he's an illusion, see
Portrayed as a loser, not opposite winners, but a person with no sense of truth to be
What was once his youth could be now stated as a useless plea for hoping at all
Considering the changes, pictures vividly painted everything he wrote on the wall
A word buried in ink - followed by a shot fired blindly with no beginning or end
His demons are awakened, he could die trying to face them or live and pretend
With nothing to fight for or against, his closest friends were his rivals at best
The shadows shrouded him for year and sleepless nights have put survival to rest
If it's vital, he was dying, but up until this point I had you sit through it, tense
Cause it's like the metaphor of feeling ripped apart has taken on it's literal sense
And if you've never felt the anger and pain, it's nothing like accepting abuse...
...he went through this alone and his memories escaped him as he bled to his shoes

Now the days grow short, I'm in the autumn of my years
And I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs and it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year

Memory Lane. It's the road most traveled. Also, the most feared.