There are spiders into my soul, crawling... from the deepest and darkest they come, all inside of me... I keep fighting my little black spiders but still I can feel their thin pointed nails. Scratching. Hard. Painfull. I put my hands on my ears so to not hear it, but it keeps - even if silent - this aching deed, as I suffer it all over in tiny bleedings. I fight these fears, kill bits of me - for they, like cancer, spawn from my own dreams - just to see, oh just to see even with my closed eyes, as soon as I stop fighting, the little beasts trailing from the darkness of forbidden nightmares.