In the heart of Metropolitan, at the strike of midnight
Thy thoughts idle, the very dwelling of malice and mischief
As she slips to lucid dreams of sinister eyes staring back
Like ghastly claws, taking her deep into the dreaming

A deviant and macabre dimension arises from thy slumber
Where sinisters with crimson hands feed on flesh
Eternally supined, yet chanting, drawing tempt to its adversaries
A seemingly prelude to desire, delirium or death

She awakens, unconscious of the parallel world where she rises
Of discreet Shaitans of life lurking around
Building empires with thy followers
An earthen mother unexpectingly bearing seeds of destruction

Yet another falters
Lifeless and meaningless all the same
She strugles trapped in this sphere of influence
Indeed, a cynic world has come to shape