|Dont Take Me|
He screams out, as the hands come, every night, in his dreams (nightmares), clutching at his clothes, already heavy in the cold water, swirling over his head. When it happened, it wasnt' real, but now that it's his only dream (nightmare), it's inescapably real. Not that that prevents him from trying to forget. Drugs, sex, rock & roll (trance), whatever it takes, to distract his mind from the memories he can't face. You'd think he'd gotten used to that, 20 years experience at hiding from one's own past. But as ineffective as the last 20 years have been, so too will the next.
Blinded and alone, he imagines himself there again, the day falling into darkness, the cold winds off the mountains, blowing thru him, chilled to the bone. There was never any real hate, to keep his blood warm. Annoyance and frustration aren't the same thing, as the anger that can keep a man from freezing, the rage that drives a man to kill or be killed.
One life blends into the next, in times of crisis, the memories of the last moments of lives, are hard to keep seperated...the fear that is a common theme, blurs the lines between them. The anger, makes the differences matter all the less.