A window that is no window at all
Shows a vague view of my soul.
Coated with grime of misfortune and time,
It does not dilute what is shown.
Such evils I've done, and deeds I recall
All take a murderous toll.
The after effects of my ways and my crimes
Leave alien landscapes, unknown.
There is a door that is not a door
Which opens on nothing and everything.
There is a key that is not a key
That unlocks, but never obeys.
Oh, such a chore to tread the dirt floor,
And not disturb dust of remembering
The days we were free, now imprisoned, you see,
In a cell of our ignorant ways.
There is a mind long hidden behind
This door that is not a door.
A whisper in time, and a shadow of doubt
Locked away in a trunk of denial.
But there, in a mirror of cobwebs, we find
Like always and never before,
That life limps along, and Death gives a shout,
As all of our thoughts go on trial.
In fist is this key, which is not a key,
Screaming to ruin my life.
To go forth and unlock all things now confined
And drown me in things that once were.
I now see that freedom does not make you free
When yourself you imprison in strife.
The voices are never far gone from my mind,
As tragedy begs to occur.
I fear to discard this key not a key,
For it may find another's hand
Whose curiosities for morbid restraint
May exceed those of my will to change.
The door not a door will be opened in me,
The trunk split apart on command.
Regardless of effort, and numb to complaint,
A return to the prisoner, deranged.
So madness, you see, resides within me
Behind the door not a door.
Madness remains beyond cold shell, as well,
Forged by the key not a key.
Forced to be keeper of insanity
By my hand and others before,
By my hand or another, I walk through this hell.
One price or another, I'll never be free.