Intro
Black house. Black sky. Black heart and more.
Black house. Black hole. Black thoughts and further.
Black house. Black dreams. Black screams are your own.
Put them all together and you've a place that no one needs to go, but sometimes does, though denies it in total. But denies it for good.
Black house. Black heart. Bleak outlook on life.
Black house. Black closet. Beings under bed.
Black house. Black demon. Lurking in corners.
Over there. No not there and there too goes something that bumps you while you wait. And waits for a light that will never come.
Black house. Black images in your mind of chaos and a dismembered heart from their bodies. Your body.
Black house. Black fragrance fills the air is the stench of the decay morbid to the core.
Black house. Release me and let me out of your spell, though I am aware that you will never do such a thing, cause I am yours.
Spirit lingers far to long and spirit wraps me far to tight. Spirit engulfs me and tares limb from limb and laughs as it goes.
Black house. Black graves. Black gravestones of those who have gone, but will not stay put as they should, but won't.
Black house. Black hill. Black earth underneath is the foundation for such thoughts, that hold you tight with so much might.
Black house. Black house. Black House. Oh won't you let me go. It will not and so it goes and so it is.
The dreams persist. The time is to long for anyone to ponder. The hole in your heart is being filled with the continuous mind throb
from a beast, now over there, no there, to near, think clear ... You cannot, for you are not at all lucid, even enough to cry out for
release and that better dream or different time... Which never follows.
Black house. Bleak pain. Eyes with pupils sad and flowing tears that fell like acid upon your cheeks.
Black house. Brain aches with the continual hum and drown of the Secata's that flap their wings now digging a place to morph into an
eerie shape no one but themselves would dare to touch, or be bumped by.
Black house. With creaking boards. With squeaking hinges no oil could silence. With webs from spiders munching on their prey as
tasty to them as peach would be to our pallet.
The scene goes one. The show will never end, not for you this or any night you were born for. For this is your lot and the meanies
know it as black is to their day and awesome night so loved throughout.
Black house. Split board floors, where splinters can be found and a smooth sleek surface cannot be found for the want, of the soles of
your feet.
Black house. The trees limbs are bare and the dark nights sky wraps them from a moonless sky. Where the leaves loose their color,
their shape for water that ran through its veins is no more.
Black house. Black house. The scene, the look, the feel that is all about is about not to change but sadly continue. For like a person
cast into depression, I am a expert far to well, we do continue.
The stories begins and ends as each dreams ends of mind, for who else can I relate if not the self. With little meaning and little to latch
onto for sanity sake and as far as comfort goes, I know none close or willing to take me under its wing as a comfort bond.
Black house, cherry red, blood dripping from the planks.
Black house, fragrant stench, who thinks that, none but a beast of discontent as always.
Black house, how dare you be, as you were there yesterday you will be there tomorrow, sadly for sure.
Black house, black house, black house.
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