Poezja

It creeps in,
Like a theif through the back door,
It breaks you down,
Worse than a war,
You crawl on your knee's,
To try and hide,
But it always finds you,
And makes you want to die,

There is no white light,
And the end of this black road,
There is no holy ghost,
That will take home,
Pray to your gods,
And to your priests,
Nothing can save you,
From whats tormenting me,