My house in me

I am a house upon a hill about to face an end,
As the rain spits down my windows pain was also send,
Theyve come to replace me with a house shiny and new,
They are sick of my roof of yellow and my doors of blue,

Another enters and breathes in the stench,
They leave with fists clenched,
The rain pelts harder and the hail touches my paint,
The scars are left and I feel feint,

The pathetic house left way past repair,
So the house so weak feels no one does care,
The weeds creep up the walls of stone,
And capture them so she feels alone,

The old piano inside me plays a song out of tune,
The house is colder in the middle of June,
Where did the love go from the paint of red,
Now only tears are shed,

A wall collapses inside and she only becomes fake,
The floor has fallen in and she doesnt quake,
Fear of people leaving has suddenly on the rise,
Its so great and powerful to knock her down a prize,

The old willows hold her hand as she meets the last day,
She suddenly worried as her curtains start to fray,
Now shes nothing but rubble on the ground so cold,
Her doors of blue now a fold,

Her roof of yellow crushed to black,
Her glass with a crack,
Now shattered and apart,
The piano playing out of tune now broken was her heart . . .