Tis’ the hour 3,
And as I lay in bed scared to death that you might come,
I hear your disembodied voice,
Ever so slightly your voice gets louder as you near my door,
Now immobile and covers drawn over my face,
A cold chill moves throughout the room,
The door swings open,
You are standing there,
No longer a disembodied voice,
No longer just a fear,
With a cross in my hand and prayers in my voice,
A loud screaming howl you make,
A bright, blinding light now shines through the covers,
Then silence,
I can no longer feel a cold chill in the room,
Not even an ounce of fear in my body,
I slowly pull down the covers,
To my amazement you are no longer here,
With a sigh of relief and a long awaited deep breath,
I praise the Lord, for he was here.