Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind, you were mine, but you were awful every time, so don't tell them what you told me, don't hold me like you know me, I would rather burn forever.
But you should know that I died slow, running through the halls of your haunted home, and the toughest part is that we both know, what happened to you, why you're out on your own.
Merry Christmas, please don't call.