About a murder.
The old house stands all alone
So empty a house in it rings a phone
But no one can hear it becuase all thats around
Is dust mites and bunnies and that fateful ground
The ground that she fell on that day and her cries
Her body still lies with its cold open eyes
Was it the dress? Or was she tripped?
Or posion in the glass that she tenderly sipped
No she was killed but with no sword with a hilt
Someone out there is still hiding their guilt.