Schizophrenic Murder

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

The blood is still on my hands,

It won't stop dripping from my fingertips,

Whispering are my internal and evil demands,

All my mind's gashes and rips...

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

Words are running through my head,

These words I didn't say,

Yet, I feel them rolling off my tongue though they feel like heavy lead,

Sounding like assassinations of a bloody play.

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

This bloody drama is eating me from the inside.

Why do I feel afraid of the ever-approaching night?

I have something to hide,

Why do I take comfort only in the light?

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

Within me is the surging darkness,

Making me afraid to breathe a single breath,

Because of the menacing starkness...

I've got to get out,

I've got to get away,

I need to shout.

It's all just grey.

...Mortals always afraid of death.

Ugly facts bleed through the undying grey.