Swing open the door.

Let the wind run by it.

Almost like it’s fall,

And the trees aren’t dry yet.

Take my heart and bring me there,

To this haven from despair,

To this house without a door.

Where the tea is still set and warm.

Where the candle is still glowing,

Like a splint of fire,

still soothing.

I don’t mind if it’s all fake.

A dream, a desire, or far away,

I simply ask that if it’s there,

That you hold my hand in there.

For the house without the door,

is simply just an empty floor.

If I am there without

you,

Mon Dieu.