Here comes the Chopper

He came lit by moonlight and midnight dreams,
And I felt small and feeble within my feet
Shaking with the dark hour wind, whispering pleas
The time was wild in every wide-eyed glance,
It was as if the ground I stood upon would erupt with hands
Hands of the dead reaching and grasping for the life I had
They would tug at me, dig their nails deeply in my flesh
And he would just stand there and watch me and that awful laugh
That laugh that would lick me, swallow me whole-completely
And the last man is dead and the bells are still ringing even though
There is no one left to hear it, to stop and think and remember
Remember days and oceans with blue eye and sunlight shining in sunlit hair...
A bedtime story that used to be a warning but now just a bedtime story
Unless, you grow oranges and squeeze with broken hands
Unless, you take those bright yellow lemons and tear through bitter flesh
Unless you forget all the awful things you hid under the bed
But I see him standing there waiting with darkness my friend,
Waiting to chop off my head.