Man of Dread

Man of Dread

When I fall asleep at night.

I dream a dream of terrible fright.

It’s of a man, filled with dread.

Standing there, next to my bed.

The room’s so cold, can see my breath.

And then I smell the smell of death.

I sit up with my head hung.

As he chants in foreign tongue.

I feel his stare. It burns a hole.

Through skin and bone, right through my soul.

Before he leaves, he turns to grin.

Then passes through the walls within.

When I awake, I can’t recall.

Was it just a dream and that’s all.

I’m afraid each night to go to bed.

Afraid I’ll meet the man of dread.