The Past House

In the heart of nowhere
Upon a rotting hill
Rests a little past-house
In it where I dwell

The front porch took to sagging
The hinges rusted on the door
The paint is peeling in the hallway
The clock stopped at half past four

The fireplace is ashes
And the kitchen stove is cold
And the faintest hint of love been lost
Can’t out-stench the mold

The stairways creak and murmur
That’s where the night vermin meet
The picture glass all broken
The furniture draped in sheets

Our long forgotten passion
Rots away the bedroom walls
Moths have ate the bedclothes
When lust to us once called

My love had packed his bags
Long before he decided to leave
And with a suitcase in each hand
I remained alone to grieve

In the dining room you’ll find me
Underneath a broken chandelier
Slumped at the dusty dining table
But have finished shedding tears

At that creaky table I’ll be
Driven near mad by all the rain
One hand holds up my tired head
The other a bottle for the pain

And he isn’t coming back
But I’m not going anywhere
I’ve nothing to move on to
There’s no one for me there

If our past was a house
It’d have once been a dream
The bed made all up
The floors would be clean

We’d have no owls in the attic
No mice in the halls
The smell would be lovely
With fresh paint on the walls

We would wake with the sun
Keep the place happy and bright
And we’d fall under the blankets
To spend the rest of the night

I wouldn’t be sighing
My hair all undone
My face without makeup
Turning pale without the sun

Our past is a house
A poor run down mess
But I’m still living there
Rotting with the rest

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.04.2010

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