Lyrics by Greg Banfield

Well here we are again my friend
Just you and me and centre stage
Now one of us must slay the other
Or nothing else will be the same

Another bunch of wasted hours
That's time I'm never getting back

And now it's falling to dimentia
I'm hearing things that make no sound
The first of many waves of tension
And pretty soon my blood will boil

Another bunch of wasted hours
That's time I'm never getting back

I've been unawake all night
The demon kept me company
We played chess and danced the tango
The demon was too good for me

Another bunch of wasted hours
That's time I'm never getting back

Oh enemy of life and friend of Death
I wrote a piece devoted to your force
You thief of all my youth and all my breath
A swallower of everything you source
You end our lives and steal without remorse
And leave behind a world of anxious fear
So people eye the heavens for recourse
Upon a revelation, shed a tear
Time, I hate you. Let me be this year

(yes, it's a spenserian)

No more heartache and pain gonna come my way
Coz you’re all gonna stay an arms length away
This is me evolving

With a dried up throat gonna swallow my pride
But I’m not gonna run and I’m not gonna hide
This is me controlling

Gonna keep my guard and my silver shield
Coz I know of the sticks and stones you wield
This is me evolving

Gonna watch your movements like a hawk
Gonna follow your eyes with a tiger stalk
This is me controlling

Gonna keep my friends and family close
Gonna serve all the rest with an anger dose
This is me evolving

With a hardtop shell and a thorny side
Gonna barge and swim through the haters tide
This is me controlling

With a new found force gonna build my strength
Gonna seek and destroy you at any length
This is me evolving

Blood red neon flashing upon black leather collars bearing glimmering silver studs.
Dark figures of brown matted fur, laughing their hideous breath through razor teeth.

I see things that aren't there


Mist shrouded graves of rotting soil hiding the decomposed horrors below.
Wicked green blades sway as markers, indicating death and fear .

I see things that aren't there

Tortured chains sway, resonating the hideous screach of a rusty blade.
Red brown steel rots away the bloody evidence of it’s victims past.

I see things that aren't there

Black giants leering hungrily over innocent helpless youth
Hissing violently with hate and revulsion at their freedom and happiness.

I see things that aren't there

A stroll through the dark is a walk in the park. How I love my imagination.