Slowly the wood columns begin to warp and shrink-
The great hands of time have taken their painful toll.
The heart has long died, and the home is without a soul.
Dust begins to settle while mold grows with a stink,
No long does laughter cry, or does a page fill with ink-
Now only a story of regret and failure are left in control.
Dreams were shattered, fantasies were never seen whole-
This home is now the symbol to make everyone think.

A stain of wine is left on the floor next to a cigarette butt-
Once belonging to women inveigled by the hands of vanity.
A stack of bills are still on the table that’s damaged by hostility-
The hostility of man who’s self-control was simply shut.
Slowly this home was lost to the insanity of humanity-
When a couple tried to love without any responsibility.