My eyes dart in every direction, My cold hands hold them tight, To conceal my errection, What have I become? Have I become, or did I run, From my own nature, Only now, I have succumbed? I need a thought, I need direction, These hands have never known affection, My plans must be concealed, What would be if they were revealed? How can I justify my ills, When the only peace they do instil, Is when I commit the act, Of submitting to my will? The questions grow stronger on my trail, My trial must be derailed, The horrors must be buried, Yet without them I am ailed, Have I failed?