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The first shall be last

And the last shall be first

That is the irony

Of my bloodthirst

I stalk the dark night

That is only lit up by the light from the windows

Barely visible

I look into your house

I see you

I see your husband

I see your children

They are sound asleep

You sit in your rocking chair

A book in your wrinkled hands

You have probably forgotten me

But I could never forget you

The first shall be last

And the last shall be first

That is the irony

Of my bloodthirst

Now the house is dark

No light exits no more

So now it is my time

My time to shine

I enter

Through the door I know you never lock

When you go to bed

So carefree a spirit

With rope in hand

And several handkerchiefs

All are bound, one by one

Quietly in the night

The first shall be last

And the last shall be first

That is the irony

Of my bloodthirst

I carry your children to the living room

Place them gently on your couch

I drag your man to the living room

And throws him to the floor

I drag you into the living room

And seat you in your rocking chair

And now this living room

Has turned into a torture chamber