(willcox/sidelnyc)  There's a house on the outskirts of Marlborough  Past the polly tea rooms  Hidden in the trees  That watch your every move  Consumed by birdsong  Over the bunker  Below radar  Away from the sports centre  City tip and parked cars.  Perched on a hillside  An undiscovered u.f.o.  A time thief  In mechanical conversation  Flashing beaming winking gleaming  At the gaping sky.  Throbbing with generation  Yet stalling your car  Burning all circuits  Among the standing stones  And old Sarum.  Real estate owner occupied  A growing concern  Attractive moods in the woodwork  Subsidence tolerated  The blinds hide the  Blushes fading adds maturity  Prime investment for the voyeur  Only jealously guarded.  The paint never peels  And the dust doesn't settle  On the linoleum-like substance  Across walls and floor.  Dark is the stage  No children live here  And no old die  Only silence prevails  Paranoid actors  Hide on the stairs  Little creatures  Cought in the thorns of the rose  Arbour helicopters, jets and siren  Wall reciting everry word that has  Ever brought a tree down  And bounce off the walls of the  Dream home whispering obscenities.