• There's a house on the hill.
    One which creaks with the wind;
    Whines like a dog.
    This house of dread and doom
    Where only remains of dust now lay
    In trembling vases, skeleton faces,
    It is by them it lives.

    There is a house on the hill
    Named of deathly tune
    And deceased torment that yet lies.
    Fog is a friend of this ghoulish house,
    This lonely house, this breathing house
    Up on top of Hollow's Hill;
    Chant only the stairways.

    There is a house on the hill
    Consuming fallen tears
    Of a million dreamers who lost love.
    One in which takes, gives to itself
    The pain, the agony, it hurts itself.
    Did not want to hurt anything else
    But it crushed the rosebuds.

    There is a house on the hill
    Where enjoyment would have been,
    And seeking entertainment wasn't of issue.
    This house was a friend -
    Was a lover (a deceitful lover?) -
    Who dare grew marigolds
    While still housing the glorious roses.

    There is a house on the hill.
    A sign of dead trails that tore–
    Through the roses; left the roses.
    Then decided not to keep the marigolds,
    But too late a decision; the roses never came back.
    The house went frigid, hated itself…
    Never turned on the lights again.

    There is a house on the hill;
    That hill of Hollow's mark
    With the noose in the front,
    Guillotine in the back.
    The house that is sorry.
    Who knows what is gone
    And who begs for understanding.

    There was a house on the hill,
    With anguish-painted walls,
    Hateful floors, stained crimson,
    And there, the vase,
    Filled to the brim with dust,
    Moves no more, breathes no more,
    As alone, cry, the forgotten roses…