Doors open and close
behind them are places, little people know
they differ in meaning:
some to block out, some to protect
but to me, doors remind me of people who've left.

When the door opens,
we feel at home
then why do I feel so alone?
The door opens, the mask comes on,
trying to hide this sorrow song.

The door opens,
my freedom ends,
and all that's left to do is pretend.
Even if I try to make amends,
I know this feeling will never be cleansed.

When the door opens,
the hiding begins,
because this is when people feel free to come in.
Uninvited, unaware
of the tension that's left hanging in the air.

But when the door closes,
I sense something is wrong,
it begins the chorus of my sorrow song.

When the door closes,
it seems I'm at fault
everything seems to come to a halt.
No need to wear a mask,
nothing to hide,
but I feel even more empty inside.

With these doors, opened or closed,
I'm still hiding the me no one knows.
I try to be strong, but I am weak,
quietly singing my sorrow song.