I bar the door; the habit knows my hand. A narrow room, and I don’t make it grand. My shadow keeps its counsel, close and low— my face, in passing, almost lets it show. The room gets small when the lie sits down. I can hear it crawl through the walls, through the ground. Evil in me, evil in me — say it plain, and let it breathe. Evil in me, evil in me — sharp as truth beneath the teeth. (under the skin) (under the skin) No clean escape in the names I know. A velvet blade tucked under skin — it won’t let go. I hold the latch. I hear the seam. What lives in me has learned my name and feeds the dream. The room gets small when the lie sits down. I can hear it crawl through the walls, through the ground. Evil in me, evil in me — say it plain, and let it breathe. Evil in me, evil in me — sharp as truth beneath the teeth. (under the skin) (under the skin) The ring won't turn, the crowd won't sing. I am the offering, the unholy thing. No exorcism, no church bell's plea — just the band and the feedback and the devil in me. If I call it by name, it still stays mine. Not a curse, not a ghost, just a fault-line. The worst of it isn't the wound, you see — it's the voice that learns your tune, and sings it through me. Evil in me, evil in me! Say it plain, and let it breathe! Evil in me, evil in me! Sharp as truth beneath the teeth! (under the skin) (under the skin) (evil in me) Not a ghost. Not a curse. Just me, made worse.
