From early days of infancy, through trembling years

of youth, long murky middle-age and final hours

long in the tooth, he is the hundred names of terror ---

creature you love the least. Picture his name before

you and exorcise the beast.



He roved up and down through history --- spectre

with tales to tell. In the darkness when the

campfire's dead --- to each his private hell. If you look

behind your shoulder as you feel his eyes to feast, you

can witness now the everchanging nature of the beast.



Beastie



If you wear a warmer sporran, you can keep the foe at

bay. You can pop those pills and visit some

psychiatrist who'll say --- There's nothing I can do

for you, everywhere's a danger zone. I'd love to help

get rid of it, but I've got one of my own.



There's a beast upon my shoulder and a fiend upon

my back. Feel his burning breath a heaving, smoke

oozing from his stack. And he moves beneath the

covers or he lies below the bed. He's the beast upon

your shoulder. He's the price upon your head. He's

the lonely fear of dying, and for some, of living too.

He's your private nightmare pricking. He'd just love

to turn the screw. So stand as one defiant --- yes, and

let your voices swell. Stare that beastie in the face

and really give him hell.