The Haunted House Down the Road

Amid the shadows and the sirens’ roarDown where all the lost roads meetHides a house, peopled no moreMade of lost dreams and concrete.

Doomsday clock points five past twelveIn this house of mysteryWhere the voiceless come to delveWhere the voiceless come to delveInto their lost history.

Black dogs howling at the doorThey shelter the living deadThose cockroaches of warWhose red hands have never bled.

From the mines of despair To the wells of hopelessnessThrough the thick smoke in the airThrough the thick smoke in the airI watch them gather, motionless.

They cluster around their shrinesLike fierce rapacious vulturesAnd circle above the white linesOutlining the corps of culture.

The wind howls echoes in the hallsOf this old house down the roadAnd mirrors hang turned to its wallsAnd mirrors hang turned to its wallsTill the whole vile truth erodes.

And no one speaks ill of the deadFor stout and sharp is the butcher’s hookAnd all the words of truth unsaidFill the sad pages in my book.

And I dwell here on the first pageWhere life was less traumaticI’m of thirty winters of ageI’m of thirty winters of ageAnd I already feel nostalgic.

Soon I’ll be up amongst the cloudsWaving from my window seat Away from all these little crowds Playing the song of my defeat:

♫ Once upon a time an evil mouseWith a hundred and twenty-eight clonesSneaked into one old houseSneaked into one old houseAnd gnawed away a million homes ♫ the art of boo

theartofboo.com