The Backyard Of My Life
The House At The End Of Lonely Street
She waits by the window when the moon and stars meet
Swallowed in solitude in the house at the end of lonely street
Faded flowers collected tears in a vase
Photographs and souvenirs of a life in a suitcase
She tries to scream but makes no sound
Dreams of desire buried deep down in the underground
Maybe tomorrow when her future falls back on its feet
Sweeping up the broken glass in the house at the end of lonely street
The television's tuned into a constant static
In between cobwebs and boxes of memories stored in the attic
She longs to leave it all behind but has nowhere to go
As the years fall by like rain shes forgotten more then she will ever know
The old grandfather clock chimes in the midnight hour
While visions of a perfect Paradise suddenly turn to sweet then sour
There's skeletons and secrets in cupboard under the stairs
People pass by every second every day but nobody really cares
Hiding behind a veil of dark eyes twisted truths debts and deceit
Addicted to a certain kind of service at the house at the end of lonely street
Shes like Medusa with her head full of snakes
A gate keeper from many mens mistakes
The flames of her passion have slowly turned to stone
When darkness falls she always ends up all alone
There's a place where strangers go to talk and meet
Leaning on a lamppost in the shadows at the bottom of lonely street
Paper invitations pile up on the floor
A do not disturb sign is hanging on the door
With her little black cat keeps herself to herself
Shes got Keats and Yates for company up on a dusty shelf
All those words of wisdom she can recite in a heartbeat
A candle burns next to blue walls in the house at the end of lonely street
By Keith Hagger
