Who could have guessed it? Damaged through and through,
They showed up at the Murder House — and hoped
For a new start. We cannot say they coped.
Happiness? Hey, they didn’t have a clue!
Malevolence was thicker than thick stew
Around them. Into ghostly tangles roped,
They sought escape, but after it they groped
In vain, as foolish mortals tend to do.
And they all died — from Violet, poor thing,
To Ben. Despair insistent and compelling
Became the upshot of their worrying.
Even post mortem, agony was swelling
In all their worlds. How is it that we sing
Of Harmons happy in their final dwelling?