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The Bedtime Hour
Why can't I stop this?
I know that I could but I can't seem to try,
it's all just so deep and so heavy inside.
Carrying 'round all the secrets and pain,
driving at midnight just one car per lane.
Sleeping is easy but dreaming is hard,
I see all the reasons I've ever been scarred.
Devils show up at the bedtime hour,
witches return from their wicked towers.
The monster crawls out from under my bed,
not here to eat me but get in my head.
Ghosts fly in as the wind starts to whistle,
I hear people screaming about bombs and missles.
I beg for the angel to come back and save me,
as I'm carried away by the human stampede.
Then everything ceases, I'm deaf and I'm blind,
I realize that everything's been in my mind.
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"A writer must never be short of ideas."<br /> -Gabriel Agreste- (Fictional character- Miraculous)