A threat

There’s no indication

no rhyme and no reason

for the unease you’re feeling.

We’re coming to getchya.

How will you know

the time or the place?

When the sense of your doom

is less than a whisper

Just the deeper chord rumbling

‘We’re coming to getchya’.

In your waking unconscious

you’re running like mad

But you know that we’re faster

We’re coming to getchya

On page or on foot?

the terror progressing

Could be totally abstract

the way that we’re coming.

But of one thing be sure

We’re coming to getchya.

Leaping and bounding,

vertical heights

mean nothing to us.

We’re coming to getchya.

Frantically checking the chessboard scores,

the CO₂ and the weather report.

Is it the pharaoh’s curse or the frankenfoods?

Time’s nearly up but if only you knew

our identity. When, where, why and who?

All the better for us.

We’re coming to getchya.

Double entendres or frightened dogs’ whimpers?

Where are the warnings of the dread you can feel?

Which should one fear? The noise or the silence?

Hurry up fast

We’re coming to getchya.

 

Racking your brain

for the devils you know…

Sorry, too late

Face us

We’re here