There’s a house up on a hill,

At infinite kilometers high.

There’s a house up on a hill,

Where the world seems like a doll palace.

Where the grass is always green,

Where you can hear every gulp of coffee.

It’s too high for the sun to burn,

Or freeze – there are no seasons

But falling in loops.

 

There’s a house up on a hill,

Where the moon at night is bigger than the sky,

Only trees in the forest are denser than thy skin.

They paint shadows on the moon that’s always full.

And in the house upon a hill, there lives a girl

In the house with walls drenched in dirt.

 

From dawn ‘till dusk, she cleans their every inch

To greet a friend’s embrace, who ceases to appear.

But in the house up on a hill, she cannot breathe at night;

Because it’s too clean.

 

The walls up on a hill – immaculate, reflect her skin;

From dusk ‘till midnight she scratches the walls,

Because they are too clean.

 

Between the walls up on a hill,

From midnight to dawn –

The girl sheds her skin in madness

It smells of fear and that’s the only food she’s got.

In the house up on a hill, the sky lightens

As the dirt darkens the walls

Each morning more than yesterday.

 

Gothic, victorian? Who can judge by the filth

That’s clothing it?

There’s a house up on a hill,

Where time stays still.

Where you cannot see beyond

The walls built.

Where no one can see inside

It’s in the nowhere only you can find.

(Alexandra Crisbășan)