Ghosts

My name is Shanachie, I am a carpenter
But I came to California for the gold
I fought the Indians, I fought Tuberculosis
But now I mostly do as I am told.
I work in San Jose for Sarah Winchester
She's the widow of the rifle-maker's son
Her family fortune has cursed and blessed her
With the bounty and the burden of the gun.
Thirteen walls, thirteen doors
Thirteen chandeliers like spiders on the ballroom floor
Thirteen stairs, thirteen posts
To spare Sarah Winchester from ghosts
She dreams in blueprints of twisted architecture
Of a window in a ceiling or a floor
And doors to nowhere designed to foil the specters
Of half a century profit off of war
Thirteen walls, thirteen doors
Thirteen chandeliers like spiders on the ballroom floor
Thirteen stairs, thirteen posts
To spare Sarah Winchester from ghosts
Some say it's the ghost of Sitting Bull
Some say it's the karma of the muzzle-flash and trigger-pull
But more than this I'll never tell
Sarah pays her carpenters too well
So I keep my silence and I keep my hammer swinging
As we bend this aging mansion to her schemes
Never knowing what tomorrow's bringing
Only knowing that tonight will bring more screams