When the breeze hits your house,
It cuts like ice,
Blowing your door
Opening it wide,
Sometimes, so torturously,
Slowly shows inside,
Trying so hard to keep the furniture, your pride,
Running around opening all doors,
trying to find someway to show that you lied,
But it hits the windows,
After all of your fight,
And wraps it up,
Like the feelings behind our eyes.
What we hide is in our eyes
The smile is the door