In these half-awake mornings I see more of you
And the parallel house that I believe must exist
And in half-dreams I am standing outside terrified to go in
But always looking for the right angle to peak inside
And the terror lies in that this memory is still a current fear
And that this is not dream
Just a part of the landscape that has formed me
Making me sad and slow for all these years
Whenever I want I can think of the big house
And the small house disappears
Taking my poor but honest past with it
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