Sometimes I hear a demon in my head
Who jeers and sneers and laughs while tricks he plays
My mind is tortured with a sense of dread
‘til once again upon my face I gaze.
I sit up late and burn the midnight oil
Which casts its pale light on the page I read
but still I am tormented by this toil,
And crave that someday from him I’ll be freed.
A thousand stars look down upon the earth
So distant and so numberless they stare
They make me ponder what it all is worth
And why the sunset heralds not a prayer.
Yet sometimes I would make myself believe
The stars o’erhead do nothing but deceive.