The killer lives inside me: I can feel him move.  Sometimes he's lightly sleeping in the quiet of his room,  but then his eyes will rise and stare through mine;  he'll speak my words and slice my mind inside.  The killer lives.  The angels live inside me: I can feel them smile....  Their presence strokes and soothes the tempest in my mind  and their love can heal the wounds that I have wrought.  They watch me as I go to fall--well, I know I shall be caught,  For the angels live.  How can I be free?  How can I get help?  Am I really me?  Am I someone else?  But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes of gloom  and Death's Head throws his cloak onto the corner of my room and I am doomed..  But laughing in my courtyard play the pranksters of my youth  and solemn, waiting Old Man in the gables of the roof: he tells me truth...  And I, too, live inside me and very often don't know who I am:  I know, I'm not a hero.....I hope that I'm not damned.  I'm just a man, and killers, angels, all are these:  Dictators, saviours  , refugees  in war and peace  as long as Man lives....  I'm just a man, and killers, angels, all are these:  Dictators, saviours, refugees........  ---------------------------------------------------------