(Marie Cain/Warren Hartman). . It's the hour of the night time. When the demons come to call. And the shadows seem to whisper. And I'm wishin' I could crawl inside a dream.
(You see, what you mistake for madness is just over acuteness of the senses. Now what came to my ears, a low dull sound such as a watch makes when wrapped in cotton. I knew that sound too, it was the beating of the old man's heart.).