Master of the Dream

The streetlights flicker, the hours getting late. My lids are heavy,

I can't fight my fate. I see the children on the street,

playing with their rhyme. Counting down the seconds of wasted stolen

time. I feel the heat, the smell of flesh,

the fear that starts to creep, creep, creep, creep,

creep, creep, creep, creep into the corners

of my mind as I drift off to sleep. He's the master of the dream,

the shadow in the hall. He's the burn that makes you scream