Dead.

Sneaker. Creeper. Crawler. Funeral parlor. 
As I walk on down the hall. My scalp feels too small for my own skull. 
Chills run up and down my spine. I catch a whiff of varnished pine. No, that coffin can't be mine.
There the coffin awaits. Waiting to seal my fate.
Maybe, just a quick glance inside. No, I can't be the one that died.
Sneaker. Creeper. Crawler. Funeral parlor. 
There I lay, as cold and stiff as clay. 
Pale and gray, I guess I'm not okay?
Face to face with myself. Knowing I can't do anything else.
Better climb inside and close the lid behind. 
Sneaker. Creeper. Crawler. Funeral parlor. 

Rock,Metal,soulful cabaret,dark acid house