Tell me, do you hear him whisper?
Do you hear his footsteps stalk you?
He's much more than what you consider,
Unseen and unheard by others, he's just a fly

Young one, do you feel his breath on your neck?
Do you feel his presence following your life?
To others, he may be less than a moth- a speck
But I know you feel the weight of a hundred corpses

My boy, do you smell his stench of rotting flesh?
Do you smell the trail of this buried body of his?
A rancid scent, any other corpse smells so fresh
I'll bet you're wondering how to get rid of him...

My son, do you see his decayed, unsightly face?
Do you see that grin through the ebony clouds?
He will never leave, he will hold on with a lace
I'm sorry, but the demon is here to stay, good luck...