Grace Petrie - This House lyrics
[Grace Petrie - This House lyrics]
This house is like a cemetery
All the things he built for me
The things he left behind
The labours of his time
The products of his mind
Oh, I keep them all in line
All the things he left behind
This house is like a prison cell
Twenty years straight down the well
And all I've got is time
Time on time on time
Sat here with an idle mind
And the questions that it finds
About the ways that he was mine
And it's not shame
It's just something I can't name
It's not love oh, this thing I'm dying of
It's his roses in the garden
It's his pictures on the wall
If this house was made for talking
It would say it would say nothing at all
This house is like a mockery
Empty chairs and crockery
And it's handsomer than most
But nobody gets close
Empty glasses, none to toast
And he was born to host
All I entertain is ghosts
This house is like his legacy
All the things he meant to me
The things I'll never say
And I try to find a way
To keep the thought at bay
That if we had one more day
Oh, I don't know what I'd say
Yeah, Hell alone knows what I'd say
'Cause it's not shame
It's just something I can't name
And it's not love
Oh, this thing I'm dying of
It's his roses in the garden
It's his pictures on the wall
If this house was made for talking
It would say it would say nothing at all
It would say nothing at all
This house is like a cemetery
All the things he built for me
The products of his mind
The labours of his time
Oh, I keep them all in line
All the things he left behind
All the things he built for me
The things he left behind
The labours of his time
The products of his mind
Oh, I keep them all in line
All the things he left behind
This house is like a prison cell
Twenty years straight down the well
And all I've got is time
Time on time on time
Sat here with an idle mind
And the questions that it finds
About the ways that he was mine
And it's not shame
It's just something I can't name
It's not love oh, this thing I'm dying of
It's his roses in the garden
It's his pictures on the wall
If this house was made for talking
It would say it would say nothing at all
This house is like a mockery
Empty chairs and crockery
And it's handsomer than most
But nobody gets close
Empty glasses, none to toast
And he was born to host
All I entertain is ghosts
This house is like his legacy
All the things he meant to me
The things I'll never say
And I try to find a way
To keep the thought at bay
That if we had one more day
Oh, I don't know what I'd say
Yeah, Hell alone knows what I'd say
'Cause it's not shame
It's just something I can't name
And it's not love
Oh, this thing I'm dying of
It's his roses in the garden
It's his pictures on the wall
If this house was made for talking
It would say it would say nothing at all
It would say nothing at all
This house is like a cemetery
All the things he built for me
The products of his mind
The labours of his time
Oh, I keep them all in line
All the things he left behind