Every slip of the tounge brings closer, hidden hands from the dark. Every move with the wrong intentions, casts you with the mark of the shapeshifters, hypersonic money lifters, dopplegangsters from the depths of space.

This room has too many corners, can't hold my head on straight. That face is almost human, but it will change, just you wait. It's a shapeshifter, transatlantic mind twisters, pulling strings so tight. If you can't breath you can't speak.

This is a house of horrors, some real some wrought of minds. My hell is all you people with your shiny cars and your dead eyes. Don't back me into corner, whose side are you on. My hands will fuck your world. Whose side are you on.