Song I'm writing

I've been in a few of these old houses in this old neighborhood
But only until then was when my outlooks on my days were good
My loss of faith confines me to the quarters where I feel I should
Remain, but boredom shoos me out the door

I give into its demands for fear of hearing reprimand
I feel the harshness of the cold upon my face and hands
My pessimism gives a silent "told you so" but then I stop and stand
I start to feel something more

As I'm walking down the street
I suddenly am struck; I meet
A house with pretty frames and open doors
I'm guided to the walkway
By a warm wind and a light ray
With a force from the spirit that is yours

You give me a window to look through so then I peer inside
I try to make sure what I'm doing won't be future suicide
My optimism tries to make me thing that it is on my side
When it has failed so many times before

Before, it's led me into darkened halls with marks and damage on the walls
Of memories and spirits chilling bones and making tantric calls
Dying to be removed from the scarred and damaged rooms and halls
But they are trapped within the haunted doors

But this house looks defying
Of the theory I've been trying
To dispose of, that there really is no use
I look around in gratitude
For this nice, newfound attitude
For you to thank for setting me loose

In fascination I begin to wander in the house to find
The spirit letting me inside, that's you, because you were so kind
I want to thank you for all that you've done to keep me from being confined
To where monotony rules all

As I walk among these halls I notice that I can't find any
Marks, visible damages, ghouls, or imprisoned memories
The beauty of the inside's even better than what I could see
It motivates me more to search these halls

I still cannot find you
But there's no way I'll decide to
Turn around and find my way outside the door

I'm relieved to have found
A spirit who's around
Who really bothers to become something more

These walls are damage-free and it provokes a thought to me
I wonder how this house could be so perfect and I think I see
Some people let the world muck up their lives and cut them like a tree
But some will choose to fix what's done them harm

Still searching for your spirit I trudge through doors up and down the stairs
In awe at how the inside's architecture doesn't seem to scare

More later!