there was a gate with a lock
and a nice metal fence
and a wall made of brick
and a tower made of stone
there was fire underneath
barbed wire underneath
this was my home
with a sign underneath
‘trespassers will be shot’
‘survivors will be shot again’

but there was a pick in the lock
and a hole in the fence
a ladder at the wall made of brick

there was a tiny wooden door
at the base of the tower
and the fires had burned it up quick

the footprints were ******, all up the stairs
a cloying smell of smoke, and ruddy burnt hair
and i knew you were coming, i knew you were coming
i could hear you crossing the floor
and nothing had stopped you before
and how could i turn you away?
when nothing had lead you astray
when everything, everything, everything had only ever caused you to stay

and i suppose i could run
and build it again
start with my gate and my lock
but i knew you would follow
with a pick and a ladder
and a smile like an adder
and i knew this time you wouldn’t knock.