The windows cry the bloody tears
And ripping through the walls of years
Grow thorns of future pain.
In hellish heat the iron roof
Drips down inside and boiling proof
Evaporates the rain
Invisible are fissures in
The tiled floor that hides within
The trace of many crimes
The walls are screaming never quiet
And ancient paintings start a riot
To revolutionize
The air is filled with dust of glass
And through the siezures of a spasm
Is choking with the foam
The furniture is torn inside
And when you sit it starts to bite.
This house is my home