Screeching Hyde to Jekyll meek;

Frantic race to raptured sleep.

Here's the lever that I seek

To bypass thought and go in deep.

This thing does take a certain skill,

A willingness to clear your mind;

It's carpe diem, if you will.

Who toes the line gets left behind.

I crest atop the swelling hill

As you slide back, your warrant signed;

I can't deny the sweeping thrill

Of your eyes dulling, bright to blind.

So curse my name or plead your case;

In seconds you'll have lost the race

And I will laugh, and watch the grey

Invade your eyes, and be away.