Nothing is quite what it seems...
The carnations are pink and the ivies are green,
But what lies underneath, what hides in between?
Landscape is pristine and inside is a dream.
The children behave in a sensible manner,
Within the walls of this dense little manor.
A mother and father make the family complete,
In the house at the end of the street.
The eldest of children is quite the thinker,
The youngest of children is still just a stinker.
The rest of the children are all such a mix,
One is learning piano, one is counting to six.
One puts on make up, not a lot, just a little.
One creates board games, puzzles and riddles. 
Dad goes to work, Mama keeps the home neat,
In the house at the end of the street.
Family traditions and family vacations,
Holidays, birthdays and random jubilation,
A gregarious bunch always quick to laughter,
Might cry for a moment but it's all giggles thereafter.
It looks like nothing could faze this group.
Live, laugh, love! What could break the loop?
There is always more than what the eyes meet,
In the house at the end of the street.
Family movies and family games,
A great deal of pride in the family name.
Awards, trophies and outstanding achievements.
Often in accord, seldom disagreement.
Outside looking in, no flaw can be found,
The most perfect home in the whole little town.
But there is always more than what the eyes meet
In the house at the end of the street.
Dad did a deed, or a plethora perhaps,
We cannot attribute to a personal lapse,
It was evil and evil is poison and potent.
The door to a downfall was swinging wide open.
Mama said "Dad did no wrong to his accusers,
They're desperate freaks and malevolent losers."
But the truth never came out, so no one is free
In the house at the end of the street.
Ten children now, some away at college,
Some still too young to retain any knowledge.
But when Dad goes to trial they know well enough,
Things used to be good, not it's all looking rough.
He gets convicted and locked away for two scores.
Some say he sinned less, some say he'll sin more.
The victorious Victorian is now deft in defeat,
A cold little house at the end of the street. 
The smiles are broken, the laughter has faded.
A return to glory will be long awaited.
The children have all grown into young adults,
Some have moved on, some try to place fault.
Some have habits they're unlikely to break,
We are all subject to the change our choices will make.
Life turned dark when it seemed so sweet,
In the house at the end of the street.