Your Monster


Growing in this barren wasteland,
There is a monster here
Feeding off despair in the creeping sand,
The sky grows dark as it draws near

This monster has a name,
It is a who, and a thing, a syndrome
This monster never takes the blame,
Stealing away the desire to roam

Dragging cold and darkness, it encroaches,
The monster, crushing all hope
No sound to warn as it approaches,
This thing, carrying a rope

This is a thing, made just for you
So long ago sowed in gloom
This monster borne of seed, long past due,
Only now can it take root and bloom

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