/ poetry

Grime

Listen to the recording of this song

There's a house up on the hill
shattered windows from the storm
plants growing through the cracks

never moving, lying still
curtains faded and torn
waste still waiting in the bags

underneath the thickest grime
it keeps dreaming of another time
waiting for the perfect rain
to wash away the stains

underneath the thickest grime
it dares someone to spend a dime
picking up a woodden broom
turning it into their home

but nobody's been inside
rumour's going around town
in the basement lives a ghost

you know, all joking set aside
the whole thing should get burnt down
it's what irks me here the most

underneath the thickest grime
it keeps dreaming of another time
waiting for the perfect rain
to wash away the stains

underneath the thickest grime
it dares someone to spend a dime
picking up a woodden broom
turning it into their home

in the sun it's pale and vile
tables turned and paintings burned

in the dark it's cruel and dire
vagrant sightings unconfirmed

stairs that creak with every step
spiders crawling in their webs

underneath the thickest grime
it keeps dreaming of another time
waiting for the perfect rain
to wash away the stains

underneath the thickest grime
it dares someone to spend a dime
picking up a woodden broom
turning it into their home

Marcel klehr

Marcel klehr

Passionate rationalist. Pragmatic melancholic. Random spectator. Unasked commentator.

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Grime
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