noel411
05-11-2007, 12:37 AM
Before you even entered you could sense the hostility,
A drawing force was present and hence the possibility-
Of willingly proceeding was greatly enhanced,
All those who chose to advance were almost entranced,
A path is mostly hidden amongst weeds and bushes,
Only painted in streaks where the moonlight pushes-
Through overhanging branches which twist and intertwine,
And are clouded and shrouded in mist in winter time,
This narrow path ends at a small set of worn stairs,
Which are every bit as shabby as the worn and torn chair-
Which furnishes a balcony that shudders under foot,
With an uncertainty similar to what roaring thunder puts-
In the mind of a child at the height of a storm,
Where both a sense of fascination and fright often form,
A door stands open and reveals a flickering light,
A man might stand in a trance as shadows dance in the night,
As you step inside, on the left is a staircase,
Spotted in blood, and at the foot of which there lays-
A blood doused knife a housewife might use for chopping,
A trail continues to a doorway on the right without stopping,
And follows through a gloomy room, ending at a fireplace,
Where a young man’s body lays with a terrified and tired face,
A sooty fire poker is protruding from his throat,
Blood leaks from his mouth and trickles down to his coat,
The ticking of the heart quickens, stricken by this sickening sight,
Now back to the staircase, passing by the flickering light-
Of a candle on a table sitting to the door’s right,
The flame suspended like a kite, but a little more bright,
Halfway up the stairs the blood trail ceases,
At the top glass is scattered on the floor in pieces,
There’s a cabinet on the wall where the door has been shattered,
And a closet in a bedroom where the door is in tatters,
There’s a shotgun on the floor amongst traces of the door,
And the girl in the corner has no face anymore,
Just a wide, gaping hole that gets lost in the darkness,
A teddy bear glares from the hands of the carcass,
Leaving this room now, there’s light down the hall,
Shadows abound and crawl right around the walls,
At the end there’s a bedroom where a candle is burning,
A bottle of scotch has been emptied before overturning,
Lustful letters of love litter a bed in the corner,
To a woman named ‘Mel’, from a ‘Frederick Warner’,
Now it’s back downstairs and then down another hall,
To the kitchen, where we witness an unfaithful mother’s fall,
A spilled pot is on the floor, the stove is still lighted,
It reveals the peeling face of a woman, which is bright red,
Matching the colours of her naturally white threads,
As blood leaks from multiple stab wounds and spreads,
From the first body another blood trail commences,
Ending at a door, the body tenses as it senses-
The likely possibility of what’s on the other side,
Indeed it leads to a basement, the place where another died,
A lantern stands on a table and enables us to witness-
What became of the final victim of his own hit list,
His body hangs from a rope which scratches at his throat,
Fluids drip from blood soaked patches on his coat,
A shiny puddle forms just below his dangling feet,
And resting next to this is an overturned seat,
Piecing it together, you might start to see the order-
In events that took place in this crooked case of slaughter,
Which saw the demise of mother, father, son and daughter,
Memories can’t be washed away even with a tonne of water,
This all took place many long years passed,
But every time I return it’s the same as the last,
Cause I’m Frederick Warner and I was Mel’s lover,
And the guilt always finds me no matter how well I cover,
I can never escape it, though so many ways I try,
I’ll be trapped in that house until the day I die.
A drawing force was present and hence the possibility-
Of willingly proceeding was greatly enhanced,
All those who chose to advance were almost entranced,
A path is mostly hidden amongst weeds and bushes,
Only painted in streaks where the moonlight pushes-
Through overhanging branches which twist and intertwine,
And are clouded and shrouded in mist in winter time,
This narrow path ends at a small set of worn stairs,
Which are every bit as shabby as the worn and torn chair-
Which furnishes a balcony that shudders under foot,
With an uncertainty similar to what roaring thunder puts-
In the mind of a child at the height of a storm,
Where both a sense of fascination and fright often form,
A door stands open and reveals a flickering light,
A man might stand in a trance as shadows dance in the night,
As you step inside, on the left is a staircase,
Spotted in blood, and at the foot of which there lays-
A blood doused knife a housewife might use for chopping,
A trail continues to a doorway on the right without stopping,
And follows through a gloomy room, ending at a fireplace,
Where a young man’s body lays with a terrified and tired face,
A sooty fire poker is protruding from his throat,
Blood leaks from his mouth and trickles down to his coat,
The ticking of the heart quickens, stricken by this sickening sight,
Now back to the staircase, passing by the flickering light-
Of a candle on a table sitting to the door’s right,
The flame suspended like a kite, but a little more bright,
Halfway up the stairs the blood trail ceases,
At the top glass is scattered on the floor in pieces,
There’s a cabinet on the wall where the door has been shattered,
And a closet in a bedroom where the door is in tatters,
There’s a shotgun on the floor amongst traces of the door,
And the girl in the corner has no face anymore,
Just a wide, gaping hole that gets lost in the darkness,
A teddy bear glares from the hands of the carcass,
Leaving this room now, there’s light down the hall,
Shadows abound and crawl right around the walls,
At the end there’s a bedroom where a candle is burning,
A bottle of scotch has been emptied before overturning,
Lustful letters of love litter a bed in the corner,
To a woman named ‘Mel’, from a ‘Frederick Warner’,
Now it’s back downstairs and then down another hall,
To the kitchen, where we witness an unfaithful mother’s fall,
A spilled pot is on the floor, the stove is still lighted,
It reveals the peeling face of a woman, which is bright red,
Matching the colours of her naturally white threads,
As blood leaks from multiple stab wounds and spreads,
From the first body another blood trail commences,
Ending at a door, the body tenses as it senses-
The likely possibility of what’s on the other side,
Indeed it leads to a basement, the place where another died,
A lantern stands on a table and enables us to witness-
What became of the final victim of his own hit list,
His body hangs from a rope which scratches at his throat,
Fluids drip from blood soaked patches on his coat,
A shiny puddle forms just below his dangling feet,
And resting next to this is an overturned seat,
Piecing it together, you might start to see the order-
In events that took place in this crooked case of slaughter,
Which saw the demise of mother, father, son and daughter,
Memories can’t be washed away even with a tonne of water,
This all took place many long years passed,
But every time I return it’s the same as the last,
Cause I’m Frederick Warner and I was Mel’s lover,
And the guilt always finds me no matter how well I cover,
I can never escape it, though so many ways I try,
I’ll be trapped in that house until the day I die.