Down at the Bilston House,
There's a welcome second to none
Knock on the battered door and go in
Dust on the empty floorboards
Show the places they stood
Caught in the mirrors and in the air
Each room has an imprint
And an echo of days of yore
Take a photograph framed from inside
Outside on the boarded window
The notice catches your eye
"Don't enter here, the last person died!"
Blue prints of a mystery
Floor plans etched in rhyme
I wonder who will be the next in line
A black edge to the corners
Paper on the wall
The voices in the shadows, locked in time
How many people have crossed the path
Or have they stayed behind
Marks on the wall record their height
Who were the children on the second floor
On the landing on the stairs
Something in this place is not quite right
Just another story from the Bilston House
Where the rooms are tumbling in
A thought in the mind that struck a chord
Personalities come and go
And seldom leave their mark
So many faces within these walls
Blue prints of a mystery
Floor plans etched in rhyme
I wonder who will be the next in line
A black edge to the corners
Paper on the walls
The voices in the shadows, locked in time
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