The House on the Hill

Crawling ivy, black spiral gates.
Black colors, dark-rimmed fates.

Cold touches, staring eyes.
Dusty dolls and children’s cries.

People go there, from time to time.
But only to hear, her deadly chime.

I wouldn’t go there, not a chance.
And neither should you, unless in a trance.

Find her, kill her, do what it takes.
Find her before, she kill you with stakes.

We don’t even think of it; I gives us a chill.
Please try to help us; the house on the hill.