Morbid thrist

You are not alone
There's someone in your home
You will not survive
Your time has come to die

He creeps on down the hall
He makes no sound at all
He's heading to your room
It will be all over soon

You lie there unaware asleep
My knife runs into you so deep
Blood and bile oozes from your body
Now this is what i call a party

You are not alive
Your body is food for flies
You were not the first
To quench his morbid thirst