I sit there and wait to be inspired,
Reflecting on things I once aspired
To, things of my childhood, of years past,
And of things yet to come, at long last.
Upon the walls of white of my cell
I see great sceneries and portraits,
Fevered visions of those I shall fell
And secret glimpses to my dark traits.
I can feel her there, right by my side,
The spicy perfume floats in the room,
I can feel her stare over me loom
Recalling the time when I last cried;
Knowing not why now I remember,
I let this whirlwind fan my ember.
He dares the evil deeds.