2001
Those words.
Those four words.
Over and over, they leave my lips.
Almost like a prayer.
Almost like a prayer…
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Lured into a hostile place
A psychotic king intends to do his worst to us.
All around me are my strongest fears
While my brother lays trapped, sealed,
At the king's mercy.
Yet even as my heart pounds,
Those words
Those four words
Spill from my lips.
Almost like a prayer.
Almost like a prayer…
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
It's cold here.
Cold and dark.
Alien, hostile.
The spirits lurking within
Snarl malevolently at me.
My only lifelines—
A vacuum cleaner on my back
And an elderly professor safe and sound in his lab.
Yet with shaky steps I tread these halls,
Those words
Those four words
Again and again leaving my lips.
Almost like a prayer.
Almost like a prayer…
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Peeking into an altar,
I see him.
I've never seen him like this,
Sealed away
In a macabre mockery of an exquisite art piece.
Screaming.
Fists pounding the walls of his artistic prison.
Alone.
Imprisoned.
Helpless.
Hurt.
There are bruises all over his face,
Gashes crusted over with dried and drying blood,
And his eyes, oh, his eyes—
They bear a wild, frantic look.
Hung on the wall.
Displayed like a prize.
Deprived of any sense of humanity.
His desperate screams echo through the altar.
His frantic screams, heard by no one.
No one—
—except me.
Those words.
Those four words.
Over and over, they stream from my lips.
Almost like a prayer.
Almost like a prayer…
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Now—
From corridor from corridor,
From room to room,
I boldly roam.
Steady steps measure out a beat,
Hands molded around my vacuum.
The feeling of the straps over my shoulders
The weight on my back—
It now seems comforting.
It's telling me..
You're going to do it.
You're going to get through this.
Ghost one, ghost two, ghost red, ghost blue—
All of them—they fall to my unshakable resolve.
The ill-tempered baby,
The shadow in the graveyard,
The colossus of a Boo—
I look them all in the face,
And I dare them to try and stop me.
Fight after knock-down-drag-out fight,
Those words
Those four words
Drumming from my lips.
Almost like a prayer.
Almost like a prayer…
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Here I stand at last.
The sadistic king and I
Face to face
The final showdown.
And there's my bro,
The one who held me
Comforted me
Defended me
Inspired me…
We lock eyes.
I see he wants to hope.
I see he wants to believe.
He's always stood up for me.
Now, it's my turn.
The king attacks
In the guise of another foe
One I know all too well.
But—
I level my vacuum
And stand my ground.
Against an infernal backdrop of red and yellow and orange
Rages the fight for my brother's life.
In his guise, my foe charges
And swipes and claws
And punches.
He rolls spiked balls like deadly dice
And spits cruel fire.
Yet all the while
My vacuum whirrs.
It kicks against my hands
My body
My soul…
Hurt.
Fatigued.
Bruised.
Bleeding…
Salty sweat
And tangy-sweet blood
Fills my mouth…
It doesn't matter.
Not the pain.
Not the bleeding.
Not the bruises.
None of it matters.
None of it…
Only my bro.
The image of his face
Holds fast in my mind.
The sound of his voice
Bathes my ears
And cleanses my heart
Until all of the doubt
All of the fear
All of the pain swirls away
Like dirty water down the drain.
I push my vacuum to threshold,
The flames within me burning brighter
Fiercer
Than the flames from that puppet's snout.
And those words—
Those words—
Those four words.
Those four little words.
Over and over,
Again and again,
Those four words leave my lips in a whisper.
Almost like a prayer.
Almost like a prayer…
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do it for him.
Do.
It.
For.
Him.