The door knob to the garden She knew the names Of flowers and constellations She loved to play with twinkling bells And think of herself as a rebel But the number of keyholes on the door Did smell a little like paranoia Coloured light bulbs hanging everywhere Curtains floating outside Conversing with the winds The sneaky squeak of cracking wooden doors As the dirt would dance into the lights piercing through closed shutters With swarms of dream-catchers hanging from the ceilings And everyone beneath would wonder: “who lives in a house like this?” Chessboard floor Long-gone spirits oozing through He came from a place Where even the sun looks dustier And every time he’d cry He’d spill as much sand as water He worked hard On sticking to the cliché Of a tortured artist No result would show But the villagers would talk, downtown About a mysterious collection Of gem-like lost songs Hanging from torn eyes They’d wonder from afar “How can one live in a mind like this?” Chessboard floor Long-gone spirits oozing through Unoccupied building Windows like open jaws Home for the night Dart intruders with used syringes Dogs bark in the distance But the smell of piss here He’s safe Low budget traveller Hobo, nobo, circus smooth talker Tightrope walker Sweet perfumes stalker Building imaginary walls night after night To put them down with the rise of morning lights He’ll take your suspicious eye As an invitation to sit by your side And maybe you’ll get to
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