On the road, on the road.
That was where the child died.

On the road, on the road.
That was where the father cried.

Fueled with hatred, with nothing to lose,
he found a way to remove his blues.

He made something entirely from hate,
a doll of his old friend, who sealed the son's fate.

He hurt the doll, was always abused,
until one day, the old friend was excused.

He stared at it, more hatred than before,
surely now, the doll will suffer more.

On the road, on the road.
The doll torn apart, will slowly decay.

On the road, on the road.
Sooner or later, the father will get his way.

A house was bought, the deed was signed,
but shadows always were in his mind.

In the house, in the house.
A bargain too good to be true.

In the house, in the house.
The past came crawling through.

The walls stood tall, the floors were clean,
yet nothing was ever as it seemed.

As he sat, questioning why,
that was when he heard walking nearby.

He watched through the cameras, shadows crowding every hall.
six minutes long, he had to outlast them all.

When the clock struck 2:32,
he noticed there was something new.

The doll sat there, lifeless, yet staring straight,
its stitched eyes heavy with unspoken weight.