When the dark of the night
Seems to win its fight with the light
I am merely in the shadow of the crescent
When the tone of the song
Seems to win its fight and grab its throne
I break free and start to run.
But my heart is a fish heart,
My arms like thin fleshy fins,
My brain like the jungle vines lost in the shadow.
I am taken off guard,
And a monster grabs my wrist suddenly,
He screams at me in a foreign language.
The clock ticking inside of me,
but stronger and louder.
The music pulsates through my veins
and becomes my heartbeat.
This is a black hymn.
I can’t turn around.
– dechapoe -