House Of Death

Blood drips from the wall,
phone dead, can't make a call.
All the lights suddenly go out,
from the attic, I hear a woman shout.
I run for the door, but its locked,
is this the house where all the ghosts flocked.
All the widows are covered in bars,
I moved here to cover all my scars.
I now know why the house was so cheap,
how's a man supposed to get any sleep.
All the paintings have moving eyes,
since when have dead people become spy's.
I can't believe this house is haunted,
I'm getting used to it, but its not what I wanted.
Faucets dripping red all night long,
starting to feel like I belong.
Haven't left the house in a week,
this house is filled with plenty of mystique.
Searching all rooms for some kind of a clue,
the closer I get the louder they boo.
I can hear people banging on the door,
I wish I could tell them, that I don't mean to ignore.
Slowly I start to run out of food,
starvation is putting me in a bad mood.
I grab a hammer and break down the ****** walls,
living here sure takes a lot of *****.
Dead bodies behind the sheet rock,
if only these red walls could talk.
The screams I heard in the attic,
was a recording of a ghost hunter fanatic.
Found some old clippings of the past,
all my questions have been asked.
This was the house my great grandfather built,
he killed my family and had no guilt.
I am the only left family survivor,
then I got stabbed with a rusty screwdriver.
My family name is now gone forever,
I hope he doesn't know about my daughter Heather.
Before I died, I started a fire,
put some extra lint in the gas dryer.
Now my daughter will never know,
I just wish I could watch her grow.