My family tree began in your right shoulder
My family tree was built
On a foundation of rot I am
built from rot I am
made from you, you are my creator
My father, my house,
My home and my killer

There’s an African proverb
“A child who is not embraced
by the village, will burn it down
to feel its warmth”
You are my village
And you are the houses
Populating my village
Yes, you are my home
Yes, you hate me
Maybe one day
You will love me
As I love you
And I am so starved for love
I will beg for it
From the rotting graves of dead men

If you succumb before I do
I will be the first one to visit
I will be the first knock
On your coffin door
And I will be the last one to leave
If I succumb first
I will always be here
Haunting your memory
Waiting for a chance to visit again
You want me to leave this house
But we both know I never will
This house will always been haunted
I am the thing that is haunting this house