Up on a hill, not far from town,
Upon you all, the manor looks down.
Inside the house creaks and cracks can be heard.
You see, there are people here, though you’ll never hear a word.
In my bedeviled manor, Skeletons sleep in closets,
Cold hearts lie on sleeves, buried deep in the darkness.
If you come in, the nursemaid will sing you a sweet lullaby,
But I hope you’ll be ready to say goodbye.
Chances are that my bedeviled manor is the place you’ll die.