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There is a darkened figure
That sits upon my bed,
Quietly he contemplates
What's running through my head.

Each time I find him there
His bony fingers tap away,
The more I wish that he were gone:
The more I know he's going to stay.

He's there; on planes and trains and cars,
He's there - just out of sight.
And I know when I get home
He'll be there again tonight.

There is a darkened figure
That sits upon my bed,
His raspy voice that tells me
"I lurk inside your head."