The little old house on the hill
with cracking floors
and withered flowers
Grey skies hang
like chandeliers
from century old ****** mansions
Romance and rot
in the panels of wood
secrets and stories
hidden in bed springs
that still ring the sound of our laughter
Yellowed curtains
once white with glow
fly outside the window
some people fear places like these
but I seak comfort
In dancing with the ghosts
who once left their print
In the little old house on the hill.