Deep in the ridges there is a house,
A house so low and wide
It might have died right where it lied.
For though it don’t creek (and silence
It keeps) the bones seem to sink.
And in the house is a cellar
A cellar so deep it moans
And the door to the cellar groans.
So the fear rises up on the back of my neck
Whenever I mistake to open it.
In the cellar grow dark shadows
And things that like to scare
you still. Of inaction do beware
For whether ghost or ghastly beast
There’s no knowing how it will play out.