under the ghastly gazes of streetlamps
i wonder why
i feel more at home.

in the dark of the night
in its cold embrace
i feel loved. somehow,
i belong here.

but through the door,
mama and papa's love,
or the magic they so speak of
seems to have no effect

i'd rather stand in the ghastly gaze
of the moonlight
than beneath their eyes.

the fireplace has burned for as long as i can remember
yet never once has it invited me in.
i know the dark will never hurt me
even if it will never love me.

but suddenly
the streelights are pupils
and the dark has cold hands
and I'm knocking on a door
that won't ever open.