If I were to die, and leave this place,
I know you would still resent the look on my face.
The way that I'm such a stupid ****,
Far too annoying to not shout at or hit.

But if I were gone, there'd be questions I'd leave,
To think you could replace me, might be somewhat naive.
See to you I'm a bug, a cockroach, a flea,
But I'm also a butterfly, if only to me.

But if I were gone, there'd be questions I'd leave:
Who will you shout at, threaten and deceive?
What will you throw your shoes at now?
Whose things will you take?
Whose spirit devour?

Who is going to look you straight in the eye,
And say 'it was a rhetorical question, I know the reason why'.