The House

The colours of my mother... turning grey.

They twist and spin, and whirl down the drain.

She shouts and she screams but no one hears.

She begs and she pleads but nobody cares.

The kids are too busy with their homework.

She cooks, she cleans, as much as she can,

but the house is too big; it'll take her forever!

She can't do it alone, she needs their help.

She's tired, exhausted, she just wants to sleep,

but the kids have lives of their own they say,

"We don't have time to look after the house.

Of course we'll help... just not today, okay?"

The taps leak, the stairs creak... the ceiling's weak.

She warned them the house would be in ruins,

but they never listened until the day

that the pipes broke and the ceiling crumbled,

leaving her children standing astonished.

Trapped like small rats, waist deep in the rubble;

It was too late for the house to be fixed.