I don't think he can understand
by rains of bloom
because Daddy is a selfish man
and momma is asleep beside the roses,
her eyes caked with dust.
Momma used to dance among the faries
and whisper stories of love
my momma's hands wrote with ink
telling fables of the imagination.
And Daddy was a simple man
who drank, who smoke, who ate
but his home was surrounded by love
and none of us knew pain.
But then the hand of the devil came
beckoned by the light of an angel
he turned the walls to ash
and generosity became anger.
Glass is broken among the floors
as bleeding feet walk on ice
screams are never uttered
and the lights flicker in the haunted house.
The windows are boarded by blocks
the door is locked by no key
the house is open to strangers
as long as they want to die.
Souls are consumed by fire
and laughter is exchanged for rage
the devil smiles at his handiwork
as the angel's face is contorted with pain.