“I had told her not to bear,
A voodoo child, against her prayer;
But I can tell, she loved you well…
For she still bore you, and she climbed
Her very own stairway to Hell!”
“Dear witchdoctor, my dear Sire,
I say you lit your wisdom afire,
Beckon my demons, in full attire:
And you shall find, it is not I,
To cause her bear, what made her die.
My father, whose face I barely know,
Was her love, and made me in her, grow…
Till I grew so big, that I had to arrive,
No soul knowing then, she shan’t survive.”
“Of that, long before you, I had known,
Also of the devil, into which you’ve grown.
Summon your demons? Oh sure, I will!
And expose the ones, conspiring the kill.”
With that, the doctor stood and smiled,
And whispered a spell to the voodoo child!