In the house above the tree,
that's where they'd always be.

Conspirators, lovers, traitors all,
never would tragedy befall.

Winter, spring, summer and fall,
into a trance all interlopers lull.

Drag them out you cannot do,
for they are all too true.

From beginning to end,
they shall not bend.

For in the House above the Tree,
that's where we'll always be.