Up on the hill there stands an old house,
I wonder how long it’s been there,
Its door’s broken off, roof with no loft,
No windows, and walls which are bare.
The garden is weeds and the shrubs look like trees
And the fountain is cracked at the base,
Glass in the green house is smashed to the ground,
An old hose from the shed half curled round a bed.
Look by the gate there sits an old rack,
And a spade that’s rusted and worn,
It’s an empty old place that’s now in disgrace,
Just mortar and bricks that’s falling to bits.
But once back in time I’m sure it was fine,
Lived in and cherished each day,
By a little old lady, who liked things to be shady,
In the garden as grandchildren played.
It’s a shame that today, the house looks this way,
And unfortunately tumbling down,
But I bet in a year, the house won’t be here,
For a new one they’ll build where it stands.
