Here memorialised in verse
a family inclined to curse.
One by one lifted from their hell
portrayed as fair as time can tell.

Here's mother, father, sister, brother
grown apart but chained together.
Numbly to submit in monotone
their evidence sworn bone by bone.

The spirit of joy, pushed or fell,
into the deepest dankest well.
As one for once they make the claim
it's not them; it's the world to blame.

The prevailing spirit now doom
existing in the living room.
Escape plans once hatched and cherished
like the gaudy mats have perished.

So out of touch and in the wars
brought to the boil behind closed doors.
And behind the flimsiest mask
can it be... do you need to ask?