There's something making noises in the sink.
I hear it when I go to bed at night.
It seems no sooner I've put out the light
Than I hear that sick scratch, and clinky-clink!
Sometimes I never even sleep a wink
For nightmares of what's crawling up that drain:
A snake of matted hair, or something plain--
A severed baby's finger, pruned and pink...
My mouth goes dry, but I can't get a drink;
Instead I keep the covers pulled up tight
Until exhaustion overcomes my brain.
It might be nothing; then again, it might
Be something fit to make me go insane!
How will it end? I scarcely like to think--
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