How I'd love to just bow down
To the house I'll set ablaze.
Set my rifle to the grounds
That have driven me insane.
At its front, there lies a fence,
Grand at tall:
Near eight feet high.
But with the knocking of my knife,
There's a door that's open wide.
And now that I've arrived here?
What will be its defense?
Its dashing hardwood floors
With kerosene are wet.
I've strewn a pile of mail
Up every flight of stairs.
So many people write to here,
And now they are ensnared.
They'll ignite like crackling firewood,
Building flames that I've prepared.
In the closets,
And the courtyard,
In the library,
And the den
There is fire.
There is horror.
There is orange, blue, and red.
Turned to black, to ink, to ash,
No more value.
It is dead.
Oh! You should have been afraid of me.
You knew of my intent.
But you floundered.
You're a coward.
To have placed this house for rent.
