"even the most ironed door can be opened"
he said: "maybe I'm not the key you were looking for, but I'm the key you need"

behind plenty-ironed door
there's the carpet streched on floor
and the door itself it's locked
trodden by the savage cold.

but inside it is as cold
as the man forgot the hearth
and there's nobody too bold
to fulfill the chimney's glow.

on the walls I see your pictures
memories with your belonged
with their wings against our curse
fainted down, when the time have bonged.

from outside I see a ruin
a poor house ready to fall
and I hate that you're not doin'
and refuse your only call.

back inside, I see the carpet
outstretched down, being still trampled
by your once beloved and left
it is ******, without a hope
triggered by your burdened rope.

near the pictures stands the clock
counting down your priceless life
with your mind against your soul
so's the hollow 'gainst the whole.

why you keep your ironed door
locked up, fallen in knees
with your carpet
burdened on the floor
when the-entire house still seek
for your own evanesced keys?