He built a foundation that he would later destroy
I saw the oppression of a man overflow and
seep onto the carpets of an abused home
I heard it drip one by one onto the floor
until incapable to feel a sense of comfort

I carried the burdens of a child who was torn
from her purity on my charm bracelet
I followed the mysteries of the dark cracks in the kitchen floor
like a religion

the slap of the door frame sends corruption
down the spines of the Drunken Man's descendants
The call of the child is an empty pitch attempting to cite
the right words to call her savior to save her

the steps in the hall left mud tracks that tread
on their minds any time they hear the crowd in the corner
whispering words of security
but what i witnessed was a loss of that

I stop by the drunken home
I touch the crisp memories of the burned frame