Well, there’s a funny-looking fellow.
Constantly staring, ready to bellow.
Nothing at all could even happen,
But this lad will start speaking Latin.
Crawling up and down the walls,
On all fours backward, in the hall.
Scurrying fiercely while chanting too,
He scares me, does he scare you?
Foaming at the mouth and cursing,
Not stopping his head from reversing.
Won’t someone out there help this kid?
Not one person is brave, instead, they hid.
Yet every time he’d sniff and find,
A hiding place then they’re out of time.
Last I heard, he lives under his bed,
Motionless unless he gets into your head.
That’s when he’ll lock-on and hunt his prey.
After hearing that, I wouldn’t want to stay.
In this house? No, not at all. He is there,
Muttering and retching up on the wall.