That swadow

Your fingers creeping up the wall

from the size of them it you must be tall

I tremble in my bed

the color of your eyes must be red

I can feel sweat drop down my spine

Maybe you have killed someone and I'm next in line

My eyes grow bigger and bigger

as my breath turns weaker and weaker.

Then I shut my eyes

I can bear this you are a terrible size

I can feel my skin turn cold.

Maybe I'm not meant to grow old.

Now I feel you got the power.

This must be my last hour.

And suddenly I see it was only a shadow of a tree,

that use the wind to vised me.