There lives an old lady that looks a bit shady
Who came to my house all alone.
One day she crept in - maybe I let her in?
I locked the front door, that's for sure.

She was awfully frail, and smelled a bit stale,
And she glared with disdain and complained.
She made me stay home so she wouldn't be alone
While she groaned at the ache in her bone.

The days dragged on but she wouldn't be gone
She's still here - as we speak - in my chair.
I could kick her out but she'd probably shout
You should hide if you're on her bad side.

I've tried "go away" but she's decided to stay
Taking over my life without strife.
I want to be free, but she lives inside me
You see, that old lady is me.