Again I leave my home
DESPERATE for life's answers
Received all the messages
SEEN all the dancers

Finally it all fits
It all fits like a GLOVE
Finally it becomes clear
It's a message from ABOVE

Leave now Liam
Time to go on and explore
Only then will you experience
What lays behind life's HIDDEN
DOORS.

Hate it
Love it
we cannot run from it
it creeps to your door in the night and knocks
a lizard slips under your crack

and crawls on your face
you are consumed
mr. yellow is through

It sticks to the back of my throat
like peanut butter
It sits back there like a frog
and I croak croak croak,
but it never escapes my quivering lips
It never leaves me
It never makes itself known
But it hopes like every little insecurity I've ever owned
that you will see it one day
accept it one day
read bedtime stories to it
feed it food from your dinner table
cloth it as it wants to be clothed
support it like you are the keystone
to my door
to the world, I deserve to belong in
yet I still only manage to look at it
from the blurry red plexiglass windows

I hear voices from beyond it
Be brave.
Be brave.
It gets better
little one.

But when I look out that window
I hear the depressions and suppressions of a people
gunshots and violence
and somewhere off in the distance
I hear the singing laughter and joy

Be brave
Be brave
little one

but they are as far as my voice is trapped and away from me
and as tangible as the frog in my throat
Stuck in Pandora's box
with a million others just like me.

What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.

Paper folded into doors
Fingers twisted into words
I try to grip reality
While collecting bumblebees
They call me whimsical
But i’m just somewhere else

I know you can’t hear me
but this has been easier for so many years
I’ve been shut up and down
so it’s kept locked now
not proud to say
I’m afraid of the outside

I keep the key pressed
inside of my breast
left the best empty
in case of a rest

You guessed it
the exit is next on my list
address with precision
set permission limits

slowly reopen to show you the door