Deepwell House

There's a derelict place at the end of the lane
A place that once housed the criminally insane

Bars on the cracked windows and rusty locks on the doors
Once protecting Victorian England from murderers and suicidal whores

Overgrown with wild ivy and tormented weeds
Masking it's harsh history and psychotic deeds

Some say on cold winters nights, carried on the breeze
You can hear screams of anguish, that would make your body freeze

An air of mystery shrouds this empty,forgotten shell
For the inmates of Deepwell it was a living hell

Diseased of the mind and out of control
Killers of women and children crawl out of their hole

Entombed in the deranged walls, the souls that remain
There is safety and solace from the memory of the pain

Some were once were respectable, with all their airs and graces
But now reflected in the glass, are haunted and contorted faces

The doors of Deepwell have long been secured and chained
But still locked inside are the innocents deemed clinically insane.