The hinges on the door are worn and rusty
Its windows cracked, the floors, faded and dusty
The front porch swing lies crumpled in a pile
With mud daubers claiming the bathroom tile

The fireplace brick cast in impotent disarray
The wallpaper peeling in a mournful display
The stairs and its banister ripped apart in divorce
Time stops for nothing, it's taken its course

Weeds set up residence where roses once grew
The trees bent and broken that the wind blew through
I let my mind drift to a happier time
As I stare at those trees that I used to climb

I put oil on those hinges every Spring and Fall
Mama waxed the floors and I'd skate down the hall
On that front porch swing I stole my first kiss
Who could have known it would end up like this?

I would run up those stairs and slide back down
'Til Mama would shout and scream with a frown
Now broken and battered, just barely a shell
It still paints a picture with stories to tell