Right at the edge of a lonely town,
There stands a house that shrubs surround.
Wild flowers do cracked tiles crown,
And not a soul to be seen around.
Yet through empty halls ancient echoes weep,
Calling to those who in far lands sleep.
Torn apart by lines on the ground
The age old laughter makes no sound.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 3:30 AM UTC
Right at the edge of a lonely town,
There stands a house that shrubs surround.
Wild flowers do cracked tiles crown,
And not a soul to be seen around.
Yet through empty halls ancient echoes weep,
Calling to those who in far lands sleep.
Torn apart by lines on the ground
The age old laughter makes no sound.
