The old farm house stood
by the side of a nameless road,
it's occupants gone to a better home
a better place, a new abode,
it's windows were broken
and it's roof was caved in,
and i stood there and listened
to the whispering wind,
that blew through it's empty rooms
and down it's empty halls,
playing a game of tag
with the peeling paper on it's walls,
leaving this old farm house
to it's loneliness and decay,
to be rediscovered by a stranger
passing by on his lonely way.
*bits & pieces taken from Wolf O'neill Mitchum