Strangers In The Rooms

I drove past my old house, 
Husky ruined and partly preserved, 
Antagonised with time and, 
A translucent blanket of dust over it.
 I stared at them like a queer thing, 
There were strangers in the rooms, 
There were strangers in the rooms. 

I revisited the gardens, 
Unpreserved and mud-caked, 
Reminiscence of boyhood crept inside, 
Not aware of the context of my being.
They stared at me like a queer thing, 
There were strangers in the rooms, 
There were strangers in the rooms.

Passed by that fountain, 
Was dry and choked with filth,
The songs of birds were replaced, 
By the silences and stills.
They Stared at me like a queer thing, 
There were strangers in the rooms, 
There were strangers in the rooms.

Apparitions of past memories, 
Were haunting me with chills, 
I'm free falling into time's abyss, 
Losing my wits and skills.
They condemn me like a queer thing, 
There were strangers in the rooms, 
There were strangers in the rooms.

I stood facing the house, 
Bearing libations to the past, 
The dark bricks were smelling bad, 
Of rotten weed at last.
They disgust me like a queer thing, 
There were strangers in the rooms, 
There were strangers in the rooms.