There is a house in London
Where even in winter time
the windows are always open wide

There is a house in London
Where incense burns at all hours
concealing a much less pleasant smell

A sour stench that mingles with
the scent of burning oil


There in Melrose Avenue
so many guests come and go
some come to stay

Some of the guests come to stay
At one hundred ninety five
so many people come and go

but too many guests come to stay
Neatly lined under the boards of the floor


Summertime
the maggots are crawling everywhere
smoke can't keep the flies away

Dennis finds harder to tidy up the house

Tossing salt upon the rotten flesh

wiping it away to rid the bodies of worms
extracting bowels, liver, heart, and lungs
dissecting corpses, packing limbs and head

to carry them easily to their funeral pyre