I won't stay a minute past when I am welcome
The tea can sit cold, while the fire dims slowly
Shadows of angry hands eat the walls alive
And stomps make drums of the floor
Windows pull and stretch as light leaves the room
And the door tenses with a cold touch
Wood creaks, but knows when to silence

I won't stay a minute past when I am welcome
Now you sit, with cold tea and dead fire
No shadows or stomps
Light remains steady, door relaxed
And the wood creaks, as I leave