The cat, it rakes.
The cat, it lurks.
The cat, it awaits.

It wants me alive but suffering. Sleeping most of the day
thinking and planning while I'm in my own little private
hell where I picture new scenes of tormenting.
Again that damn sunset shedding its last rays on my mind
like the tears from my eyes.

The cat, it rakes on the padding of my brain.
The cat, it lurks in the shadows of my mind.
The cat, it awaits for the right time.

To sprint and spring, to bring a swift death to it's pray.
Black, white, grey with spots!
So many colours, so many shapes, so many dangers to look out
for...
And if you look into its eyes you'll see the evil sits
within, sleeping and awake, and you can never tell. But you
know when you feel his razor sharp claws in your back and
his warm fur is covering slowly in blood while he's yawning
and stretching, Miawing and scratching, he's/his laughing -
Eyes tell you his lies and you realize that we're all just
pawns in his game. Getting used like dumpsters full of
gold.

And the cat rakes on the padding of my brain
And the cat lurks in the shadows of my mind
And the cat awaits... For the right time - it has come! It
has come...

So you stare in his face, you listen to its breath - quiet
as death... And in the split of a second he's launching his
dagger that transforms into your fears. You scream and you
fall into a hole of emotional distress and the cat
cares-ses, embraces then scratches and the wounds are
reopened. It is all a game - sick and demented and we all
have this illusion of choice!