Maybe in a previous, I was mischievous, and real devious, seems they don't believe in us.
Dead man walking on arrival, feeling homicidal with a pistol and a bible.
My nose trickles cold sweat in the night, and my reflection fades in the light.
I can’t breath, the air is night, I see no light,
Something isn’t right.
In my cranium I bleed like a psychotic hypnotic whom forced us to think robotic.
All of a sudden at once, I am frozen stiff shaking.
Not moving, in a seizure in a freezer baking.
Eratic static, of what I make the most, these words make no sense like plain burnt toast.
You can't comprehend what I feel due to the fact you breathe easy,
You're mortal, beneath me - believe me, I exist without a host, because I'm ghost.