The planks they seethe with ancient ire
The boards and shingles creak
With age-old dust and breath respire
With soundless words they speak
Alone it stands in solitude
Beneath the crescent moon
A soul-less life it does exude
And shouts a song-less tune
Its glassy eyes and gabled face
Stare wanly, blankly, dead
The crooked hungry staircase
Beckons to be fed
Its body sheds, its columns peel
Its weathered woods corrode
It hungers for its latest meal
To enter this abode
But horrors live behind these walls
And long-dead spirits roam
For moans and echoes fill these halls
And ghosts still call it home
In days long gone, atrocious acts
Befell this once grand Inn
With blades that cut, and hatchet whacks
The house ran red with sin
T'was murder there, the locals said
And death to all who stayed
For checking in meant ending dead
T'was with their lives they paid
And so it went, for years and more
And soon t'was locked up tight
Just memories of the guests it bore
And their souls to walk at night
But now it sits, in disrepair
At the end of a lonesome drive
So do take heed, and do take care
If at its doors you do arrive
For life still lives within its rooms
The ghastly wandering dead
And going in is certain doom
From evil, guilt, and dread
So if you see, on lonely nights
The House that seems well met
Ignore those warm and welcome lights
For it's the House of the Amulet
