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Man-Erg The killer lives inside me: yes, 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. Yes the killer lives. 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, while 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 into 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, well, 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...
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