3 a.m.
Eminem Lyrics

There is no escaping (yo)
You cannot escape the impending horror

There's no place to hide (ayo)
There is nowhere safe from the danger

You scream, "Someone save me" (yo)
You cry out for help, but no one answers

But they don't pay no mind (ayo)
No one is coming to save you

Goodnight, goodbye
Death looms ahead

You're walkin' down a horror corridor
You're placed in a terrifying environment

It's almost four in the mornin' and you're in a
Time and place increase the intensity of the situation

Nightmare, it's horrible, right there's the coroner
You're in a terrible dream with no end in sight. You're close to dying

Waiting for ya to turn the corner so he can corner ya
The killer is waiting for you, ready to strike

You're a goner, he's onto ya
You will not survive, the killer is aware of your presence

Out the corner of his cornea, he just saw ya run
The killer is aware of your attempts to flee

All you want is to rest 'cause you can't run anymore, you're done
Exhaustion and desperation set in as you realize your helplessness

All he wants is to kill you in front of an audience
The killer desires to execute you in front of others

While everybody is watching in the party, applauding it
The killer wants an audience to witness and enjoy the carnage

Here I sit, while I'm caught up in deep thought again
The singer is consumed with dark thoughts

Contemplating my next plot again
The artist imagines his next horrific deed

Swallowin' a Klonopin while I'm noddin' in and out on the ottoman
The artist medicates himself for mental calmness

At the Ramada Inn, holding onto the pill bottle, then
The singer is staying at a motel and takes more medication to suppress his thoughts

Lick my finger and swirl it 'round the bottom
The singer ensures he consumed all of the drugs

And make sure I got all of it
The artist is thorough in his drug intake

Wake up naked at McDonald's with
The artist wakes up, without memory of the events, in a fast-food restaurant

Blood all over me, dead bodies behind the counter, shit
The artist realizes he has committed a gruesome crime

Guess I must've just blacked out again, not again
The singer knows he's relapsed in his murderous tendencies

It's 3 AM in the mornin'
The time of day adds to the sense of fear

Put my key in the door and
The singer arrives home, but something is wrong

Bodies layin' all over the floor and
There are dead bodies strewn all over his living space

I don't remember how they got there
The singer has no recollection of what happened

But I guess I must've killed 'em, killed 'em
He's come to the conclusion that he's responsible for their deaths

I said, it's 3 AM in the mornin'
The terror is unrelenting, and the time signifies its persistence

Sitting nude in my living room, it's almost noon
He's awake and facing the morning after the gruesome crime

I wonder what's on the tube, maybe they'll show some boobs
The singer is desensitized and seeks entertainment as usual

Surfing every channel until I find Hannah Montana then
He flips channels and lands on a mild program

I reach for the aloe and lanolin, bust all over the wall panellin'
He masturbates after watching television

Dismantlin' every candle on top of the fireplace mantel and
He's compelled to vandalize his space

Grab my flannel and my bandana, then
He gets dressed to go about his day

Kiss the naked mannequin man again
He engages in fantastical behaviors

You can see him standin' in my front window if you look in
He leaves a mannequin in front of a window for show

I'm just a hooligan who's used to using hallucinogens
He admits to being a delinquent and addict

Causin' illusions again, brain contusions again
He experiences hallucinations and brain damage

Cutting and bruising the skin, razors, scissors, and pins
He self-harms using sharp objects

Jesus, when does it end?
The artist is lost in cycles of violence and addiction

Phases that I go through
He recognizes his recurring phases of behavior

Dazed and I'm so confused
The singer is in a fragmented and disoriented state of mind

Days that I don't know who gave these molecules to
The artist is unsure of who is responsible for his addiction

Me, what am I gon' do?
The artist is left alone to deal with the consequences of his choices

Hey, the prodigal son, the diabolical one
He recognizes himself as a pariah and corrupted individual

Very methodical when I slaughter them
The singer is precise and ruthless in his killing

She puts the lotion in the bucket
A reference to another murderer's actions

It puts the lotion on the skin
A part of a victim's routine the murderer is forcing them to do

Or else it gets the hose again
Threats of violence are made if they do not comply

I cut and I slash, slice and gash, last night was a blast
Reflecting on a previous night of killing

I can't quite remember when I had that
The artist's memories are fragmented and unclear

Much fun off a half-pint of the Jack, my last Vic-and-a-half
The artist's drug use culminated in his actions

A flashlight up Kim Kardashian's ass
A gratuitous and violent thought

I remember the first time I dismembered a family member
A recollection of an earlier violent act

December, I think it was, I was having drinks with my cousin
The artist recollects the context of his first crime

I wrapped him in Christmas lights
The artist recalls his disturbing actions in graphic detail

Pushed him into the stinkin' tub, cut him up into pieces
The artist describes the brutal nature of his first killing

And just when I went to drink his blood
The singer aimed to act out additional macabre fantasies

I thought, "I oughta drink his bathwater, that oughta be fun"
The artist contemplates over the top acts of violence

That's when my days of serial murder manslaughter begun
The singer would become a serial killer

The sight of blood excites me, that might be an artery, son
Violence is exciting to the singer

Your blood-curdling screams just don't seem to bother me none
The singer is apathetic and indifferent to suffering

It's 3 AM and here I come, so you should probably run
The artist warns of coming violence

A secret passageway around here, man, there's got to be one
The artist searches for a way to evade detection

Oh no, there's probably none
The singer is resigned to capture

He can scream all that he wants, top of his lungs
The singer takes perverse pleasure in his victims' suffering

But ain't no stopping me from chopping him up-up, 'cause
The artist intensifies his violence with a rhyme

Yo, yo, ayo (evil, rise)
A violent threat is made and announced with a rhyme scheme