(Verse 1) They tell her time and again, whenever she enters a room, that something shifts. That the air grows heavy. That around her lies a dark layer, like smoke with no source. "You have an evil aura," they say, half in jest, half with fear in their eyes. She laughs. But something inside her contracts, because she herself has felt it for a long time. (Verse 2) At night she lies motionless in bed, eyes open, body dead. The ceiling breathes. The walls whisper. And her chest screams, while not a sound escapes her lips. She wants to move, wants to flee, wants to scream— but something holds her fast. Something sits upon her, invisible, heavy, and waits. (Chorus) She wonders if evil dwells within her or if it has merely found its place. Whether this aura belongs to her or if she has long since been possessed. For every night something takes up more space inside her. (She is possessed, mh) (Verse 3) In the darkness she sees outlines that move all wrong. Too fluid. Too alive. Shadows without a source, drawing closer whenever she blinks. She hears her name, drawn out, distorted, as if through a broken mouth. And she knows: This is no dream. This is a visit. (Verse 4) By day she feels empty, like a house with open doors. Alien thoughts drift into her mind. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just there. Sometimes she doesn't recognize herself in the mirror. Her eyes seem deeper, blacker, as if they were holding something back that wants to be seen. (Yeah) (Chorus) They ask why she is so tired. Why she is cold. Why she is changing. They say: "This aura isn't good." But no one asks what it’s like to wake up every night with demons. Bridge Maybe they’re right. Maybe she is the gateway. Maybe she always was. A body that wasn't strong enough to close itself off. And maybe the entity didn't come to take her— but to stay. (Final Chorus) It stands in the shadows of her room, hunched over, far too big for this world. Its skin looks like torn flesh, dark, shifting, as if it were breathing. The eyes are empty yet awake. Too awake. The mouth opens slowly, unnaturally wide, and from it drips not a sound, but coldness. It settles over her, not onto her body, but inside her. And she understands: The aura wasn't a warning. It was an imprint. For she is possessed. She is being inhabited. And every episode of sleep paralysis is just the moment when it tests how much of her is left. (She is possessed) (She is possessed) (mhm, she is possessed) The demon lives inside me, yeah uhh Feedback geben
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