A ruined house
alone, deep in the hills
built way and hell and gone back,
and by God knows who,
kinda gives you the creeps.
We shouted at the hills
to taunt our fantasies
from the backdrop of realism;
the sound echoed in our heads,
taunting ourselves only.
Its the dead things
like the ruined house and the trees
that set us a-quivering.
The moon rose,
lighting the husk
that the settlers shed,
and I fear it lying there.
