I, with my flashlight, hiding underneath your bed With my dirty hands and my dirty feet and my flashlight. My flashlight is the only light that I have, so don't you ask. My flashlight is holy bright, but it's also black and it wants me back. A stare can share a lot in dreams. I swear to take care of what's in front of me. A stare from the guard tears me apart and I squirm, I never learn, And rays from behind all roar up and shine and I fall down from your halls. And as I die, a choir shouts a blessing And as I squirm with the worms, I ask, "What is depressing?" Because it shouldn't sit to end up in the pits when you die, Would you even try to organize, breathe fire, and rise in the air? Would you even care? And as I burn, I would learn how to start a fierce demon choir. We would march to the arch with the question, "Who fuels all this hell fire and what's below it?" But I should ask what's in your head 'cause I'm under your bed And I'm mean, never coming clean And you ask for a light, which comes as no surprise and I'm there, with my tangled hair. And as he dies a choir shouts a blessing And as he squirms with the worms I ask, "What is depressing?" And how to fight it