My family tree is built on rot
and thus i am built from rot.
The father who lives in my memory
is a fantasy and a stranger
to the man who actually lived.
And he did terrible things
because he believed he had to
and i have to believe
He had to do those things.

And maybe if he was still alive
he would have loved me.
And i am so starved for love
i will beg for it
from the rotting graves of dead men.
This house,
has been built on the bones
of my murdered family,
killed by my family,
and their blood has poisoned the roots.

Yes this house is my home.
Yes this house hates me,
and what does it mean
when your home is also your prison?

Yes i want to leave this house.
No i will never leave this house.
Yes this house has always been
haunted.
i am the thing haunting this house.