This old house, this grey broken place,
Frozen in time as an eternal disgrace.
Children live hollowed, a family displaced,
A past without meaning, a future erased.

Pale blue walls and long fading boards,
Shredded white curtains and fire ant hoards,
Such are the stains of hate and discord
And the glory of what here once was? Now ignored.

Beyond rusty metal and chipping off paint,
You'll find a soft bed with some tiny restraints,
Out in the shadows, a little girl cries faint,
A childhood of sorrows. Not peaceful, not quaint.

It's so hard to see from the rotting dead wood,
In the place where warmth and passion once stood.
There's some photos to save but I don't know if I should.
And a story to tell but I'm not sure that I could.

Up those broken stairs are two little boys beds,
Where they used to lay down their adventurous heads.
But now there's no laughter, no fuzzy warm spread,
Just suffering and fear and loathing instead.

And so I wallow in memories painfully sore,
completely devoid of strength left to explore.
So I bid farewell to the dark place once more,
Pack up my anguish and head out the door.