A wicked and twisted phantom Comes to you in the night But all you see is your reflection In its huge, unblinking eye You warm up a glass of milk But forget it in the microwave And a day passes And another day And the phantom keeps on coming And the phantom won't relent And from the kitchen there arises An unblinking, awful scent Puny pilgrim keep on running But in your heart you won't repent Big two-hearted river flooding Fuse all guilt and innocence What is the proper orientation of myself to my non-self? What is the proper orientation of my non-self to me? What is the proper orientation of the world to my non-self? What is the proper orientation of the world to me? To me To me And does it always have to be To me?