LYRICS:
The hidden trail
In the back of the old barn
Past the Ivory Hill
I remember it
Just like a photograph
But they say it's haunted now
A million stories
From a hole inside the wall
Curtains moving without wind
The crack of porcelain
In the middle of the night
Help to keep the kids away
From what used to be
The Writers House
She lived alone
But never lonely
Always someone around
What was real
What was only in her mind
She was a scream without sound
A white snake poet
In the stormy month of June
The leafs they fall in early May
The wind keeps tearing down
The black tiles from the roof
And soon there will be nothing left
From what used to be
The Writers House
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