Tick, Tock, the hands slide In an empty old house where nobody came Maybe it’s width was too wide Or something else that put it to shame There must be a reason, to itself it lied Nobody would come, not if they were paid Tick, Tock, the hands slide In an empty old house where nobody came Or maybe it was just tied to something that it could claim Or maybe people were just shy After all, that could be the blame Would anyone even care if it cried Tick, Tock, the hands slide In an empty old house where nobody came

Up on a hidden path on one lush green road There was a grand view of a glistening home. Gold glimmer and ancient royal ripples it showed

A cloaked man weary from escaping survival mode Heaved and gasped at the site. Alas, he could show emotion! This looked a humble abode.

Carefully the man approached, trying not to implode As he knew to not fall victim to his hopes Til now, his labors did not reap what he wished to have sowed

Touching the amber sun on the golden lode Glittery warmth circled and spilled to his lungs Took everything in him to not surrender to this feeling, to erode

Before he could reach the doorknob, his flashbacks started to goad That he, so filthy, did not belong in this bliss So he ripped himself from the warmth, and back on the long road he bestrode.

When I was five My dad got me a bike And it made feel truly alive

I used to go everywhere on it With my cousins and my friends And it never tired me one bit

One time I saw a slight break on the wheel And I thought it was game over So my heart started to sadly squeal

And when I turned twenty-one My mum got me a car And my life on the road begun

The moment I held the steering wheel I felt nothing but power It’s something I’ve never been able to feel

Until I noticed my ol’ bike Sitting sadly in the garden And I was going to give it to Cousin Mike But I changed my mind cos it’s memories are still with me

When the sun sets and the blue fades to black, I once again wonder, what is true love? What it is that I lack?

I have tried to learn, to pick up the knack, From when I hear the early song of the dove, To when the sun sets and the blue fades to black.

What have I done, to be sent away with a smack? That when I offer a smile, I receive a good shove? What is it that I lack?

I’ll never wish upon anyone this awful attack. Of being left alone and left unloved, When the sun sets and the blue fades to black.

I know that love shouldn’t be as sharp as a tack. Nor hidden away and long forgotten of. What is it that I lack?

When at last I lie down on my back, And all I see are the stars shining above, When the sun sets and the blue fades to black, I wonder, what it is that I lack?

Even though you’re dead you can take the train, Zombies can still wear smart suits and ties. Head to work with a packed lunch filled with brains.

The building is tall and has blocked drains, Only the odd seagul cries. But for the undead it’s time to get back in the reigns…

Windows are yellowed and the building bows and cranes, Still decaying bodies see company stock rise! Who leads the undead into corporate lanes?

Despite the conditions and pay that caused them pains, The building still scrapes the blue sky. Undead workers log into broken computers for the rest of their days.

The empty house stands desolate and stark, With broken windows, bare and lifeless walls, No welcome waits within the deepening dark. The garden's choked with weeds, a tangled ark, Where shadows stretch and deepen as night falls, The empty house stands desolate and stark. The roof is breached, the walls begin to arc, In rooms where silence echoes through the halls, No welcome waits within the deepening dark. No fire burns within the chimney's mark, No laughter rings, no comfort there at all, The empty house stands desolate and stark. The paint is peeling, leaving but a mark Of faded grandeur, and the plaster falls. No welcome waits within the deepening dark. The echoes whisper, memories embark, But life has fled beyond the garden walls, The empty house stands desolate and stark. No welcome waits within the deepening dark.

Suffering from a fate that someone else chose Never having a place to call home When she was in fact meant to be their rose

Daily struggles to find things as simple as clothes Her stomach crying with hunger as she cried to sleep each night Suffering from a fate that someone else chose

Joy and excitement - that's how this usually goes Instead her arrival anger and disgust When she was in fact meant to be their rose

Too young and too selfish to be parents, I suppose Still they took the cowards way out leaving her on the side of the road Suffering from a fate someone else chose

Her young life was filled with the greatest of woes She had no one to shower her with love or protection
When she was in fact meant to be their rose

They say that from hardship, the best of all grows Yet that hardly seems fair for such an innocent, young soul Suffering from a fate that someone else chose When she was in fact meant to be their rose

When you only have a crossbow, And you’re feeling bored, Then I know where you should go.

This place is beneath a willow, Beneath the floorboard, The Place down below.

You won’t need to row, Or strum a magic chord, And don’t listen to Old Man Joe.

You must go with the flow, Go where none have explored, You must go below.

There is a large minnow, It does not like to be ignored, Watch it Perform.

And I hope you know, That beneath the floorboard, With your trusty crossbow, You shall not leave tomorrow.

Minnow

At night I am visited by not three ghosts but many The older I get, the more gather before me. Why won’t these ghosts stay in their graves?

My dreams appear first; they arrive grandly As if driven in by hearse. You’ve left us so long ago, they say so fondly.

They carry a mirror and in it I must gaze Youth wasted on the young, it says. Chasing rainbows leading nowhere.

I see the tiny crow prints around my eyes “Mirror,” I say, “j’accuse! Such lies!” The mirror says nothing, it’s just me in there.

I awaken and the shadows disperse The spirits of the once-were are now not; I sob in my pillow for that which is gone — Why won’t these ghosts stay in their graves?

lol

And there you stayed. Your life was paid. Now you rot. Without your lot. Flesh fell off. They would scoff. Left behind. For someone to find.