Lyrics

Built a House of Ghosts,
Moved in,
Who be the haunted,
Then?
Were their sheets found folded, ironed?
Who even knew who still ironed sheets?
Who’d be there besides you?
You beside yourself?
You, your own pleat?

Should we, in visitation,
Perhaps as turistas, if with hesitation,
Take to strolling about,
For the taking in of the Manor?
How would you suppose be the manner of our taking?
Would our manners be found minded, seen shaking?
Would some other guests from the some other towns,
Find we were lost,
or the Dead, faking?

Can the property be Let,
Deeded to the Devil as sold,
With cash as cash so cold?
Maybe some’d come and faint,
Others’d come-see too, some see need of paint,
And as sure as hell you sure as hell ain’t,
the wainscoting,
the billy’d-up wiring,
the Marching in Saint.

Spoiling speculating amortizes,
Likely spells the spook,
You, the kook it’s kidding,
What in the end rocks some king,
Wrecks his bidding,
The Home as it was, the living, gone,
Grows accustomed,
To accosting,
All it’s giving.

To be sure the neighborhood,
Has gone to Hell,
Whose fault is that,
And pray-tell what’s that smell?
Could the codes be odes to snuff?
When is too much ever enough?
One heart grieving, sees itself sieving,
Retreating, reliving,
Foreclosed on all forgiving.

The heart puts up a duke,
Beats its blood rebuke,
Beats its blood rebuke
Beats its, beats its blood rebuke,
Yeah.