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