The night air is dry and the moon calls to me,
Those syrup like whispers seek to set me free.
Is bruised skin and tears not enough for you?
Control is what you want but you get it from few.
Scare her with promises of blood on the floor,
But cower and hide when the police knock on the door.
Pathetic little man, lonely and sad,
Your wicked ways have sent me mad.
Thank the gods for the moon and the whispers it said,
Otherwise, through the window I would of fled.