My Uncle Silas was a psychopath,
And every Sunday, after tea, He’d
Slaughter some Goats, saying it was,
Occasionally, Silas would sing to us.
His singing was loud and drunken,
And it was incoherent, for He sang as
He drank His victims’ blood.
Today, Silas has gone away. Mother
Doesn’t know where he is. She
Claims that He never existed. But she
Must be wrong, for I’ve seen Silas-
I saw Him inside my mind.