In My Own Prison
11/9/98

I'm in my own little prison,
In my soul which hasn't risen.
I put up my walls and stand my ground,
and I'm ready to fight by the first hint of a sound.

I hold my weapons in my hands,
Ready for the enemies of other lands.
I've lost a lot of sleep,
because of the demons that creep.

They torment me at night
and they make me put up a fight
They make me fight the war
And as I fight they hunger for more.

They enjoy watching me toss and turn
just as much as they would like to see me burn
I will oppose them with my full force
I will try to extinguish their fire at it's source.

I have a feeling, though, I won't win
For in the end they will get me for my sin.
I could try to bargain with the devil,
But in the end who would save my soul?

I ask for help from the Lord,
but I am only left with my sword.
I look at my sword, but it is only an illusion.
A trick or maybe one of my delusions.

I am left standing there above the inferno unarmed.
I slowly back up, with my foot on the edge, alarmed.
I then seeing no other option, I drop to my knees.
Before he could strike I jump into the fiery seas.

I scream out as I feel the fire
My pain is very dire.
I suddenly wake up in my sweat,
My forehead dripping wet.

I wipe the sweat away,
I then look around to see if I'm ok.
Those demons are pretty cunning,
trying to get my mind running.