Comments about James Fletcher
Dying screams in restless dreams,
the normality of reality.
It's all the same to me now.
Ask me how.
How I know, I've seen it, first hand, I've been there.
My self made hell, my padded cell,
where I writhe in my straightjacket of pain.
Arms bound tight and locked in chains.
It's not always this dark though,
yet somehow that's worse so.
When I wake from the sweetest of dreams
and curse the pain of the real world.
So it seems,
all that I want is to die in my dreams.
Die quietly, peacefully. The happiest I've ever been.