A Home not to far away

It's crazy how the only place that illuminates in a house is its corners, you'd think it would be its people but its where we run to in this foul odor. Ive forgotten what it feels like not to sin. It's you attacking shocks there is no shell, distance or iron it's all locked. It's all in the substance of there nature, where hatred has laid it's bed. Hatred has hammered it strikes its gown and pinned its frown. It's crazy how out of the youngest nest we undress we put our painted papers to our young There's a lot of deflection that never get put to rest. Which reflection has its head? It all started outside the door ending with the trembling walls when on got knocked. The floors quaked when blood ran through its wounds. A house just as beaten as its children, and it's cries were worn but never treated, or noticed. A home is traveled. A house is always corrupted You hold both in a strangers strange hands. There can't be one without the other. Is it all in the creation of human nature or is life created in its walls. Who seemed this cold pulse if not for death? We retreat in the pace of its taken wine Lets cover up the generation where a foul army pursues us because we have nothing to do with it's titles within our homes.