In the old house up the hills -
Yes, the one that gives you chills
Whenever you walk by its fence -
Lives someone who, no offense,
Looks like she'd puts kids on grill.
Children, puppies, all she'd ****
For food.
Lady who, probably, likes to
Know the places each kid hikes to.
There she, later in the day,
Waits for village kids to stray.
Some will die and some live on.
Who? That really depens on
Her mood.
Some say that she used to snitch,
Others say that she's a witch!
Nobody was ever in
The house whose walls are made of skin.
Nobody would ever dare
To set their foot on the porch where
She stood.
They'll never know that her kitchen
Smelled like flowers, most bewitchin',
They won't see her paintings, neat,
Her living room where you could meet
A fire giving warm embrace.
And alongside her fireplace
The wood.
Now, if you got in, you'd stare
on stinky fish bowls, everywhere,
whose cloudy water calls for changing,
and rooms in need of rearranging.
But since you never really tried,
No one knows the lady died.
Yes she's dead for good.
