Down the road stands a tiny house
It's old and neglected and fair puckered out
The walls are sagging, a right sorry sight
Standing eerie and silent on this dark night
What stories it could tell if it wanted to
Of love and pathos, the jealousies it knew
They say it was built in Cromwell's day
That he stayed there, well that's what they say
Yet whatever stories lie behind those walls
The tiny house may be happy when the last stone falls