Cemetary, down in Guama
Clarivoyants, see and hear the dead
In these houses, this is common
The dead are jealous, of the lives we have

Pass! Leave! Look for God!
Pass-pass-leave!
You don't belong here anymore!

Reach my husband, reach my children
Green and black- rank and raw liquid
Thought I saw things, then I smelled things
There's a presence, trapped behind my mirror

And in this place, clarivoyance; any inkling- it will surely bloom
Hear the footsteps, see the faces, smell the rot and listen as they speak
And they'll speak, how they'll speak!

There's a pattern, to the losses
Exact places, many the same way---

Decomposition. Seeps into water. Hallucination. A poisoned victim