All of this depends
On something still hidden
In mosaic pattern
On the walls of the psyche
And who's still sure?

Everything is dark
And he cannot see
His hand
In front of his face
Such a brutal
All-consuming terror
Can't stop him in his tracks
It takes a lorry-load
Of horror
And something quite deceptive
Has laid a hand across his shoulder

It's so cruel
And yet poetic
Is not appropriate