| Two hundred years ago there lived a man well known
|
| That man, he was firmly insane
|
| He captured little kids and kept them in the binds
|
| Those children died slowly in pain
|
| At last they tracked him down and awful truth was found
|
| To be buried alive was his doom
|
| He spelled curse on the place that no-one can’t efface
|
| It’ll last with the flowers on his tomb
|
| So many years of decay, but the place is standing still
|
| So many tears wailed away, in that house on haunted hill
|
| Land has been cursed since the day he was buried alive
|
| All there is dead except his grave, those flowers never die
|
| Long time passed away, a young man bought the place
|
| And moved in to make it his home
|
| First morning he was dead, torso lied at his bed
|
| His head was found top of the dome
|
| There was blood everywhere, people started to scare
|
| At last the old curse had come true
|
| So if you pass the place and strange voice calls your name
|
| Don’t stop or next victim is you
|
| So many years of decay, but the place is standing still
|
| So many tears wailed away, in that house on haunted hill
|
| Land has been cursed since the day he was buried alive
|
| All there is dead expect his grave, those flowers never die |