The sign above the door says no solicitors,

Whereas the vines along the wall scream no visitors at all;

Family, friend, stranger or otherwise.

I never came in through the front door anyway though and I'd been here a million times.

I'd lived a secret, favorite life within this house and I'd done my best to hide it.

Loved it deeply, called it home but never ever dreamed I'd die inside it.

I'd come in through the window, pried it open, slipped in gently and drank here, loved here and slept here.

And when it came time to leave, I thought it best to leave the way I came

But the window always stuck in odd ways when I tried to exit

Through it. It asked me questions.

"If the eyes are the window to the soul, why do you only feel alive when they are closed?"

And then something else took hold and the window broke.

The glass went only inches into my skin but only inches was enough.

And once the guilt has had its fill,

Only then will the animals eat me as well.

why do you only feel alive when they are closed?"

And then something else took hold and the window broke.

The glass went only inches into my skin but only inches was enough.

And once the guilt has had its fill,

Only then will the animals eat me as well.

why do you only feel alive when they are closed?"

And then something else took hold and the window broke.

The glass went only inches into my skin but only inches was enough.

And once the guilt has had its fill,

Only then will the animals eat me as well.