House Of Strangers

Well, I'm leaning on what's left of what
Has been and still to come
And the present tense eludes all sense
And haunts this native son
There's a truth or two or three or four
Depends on where you stand
You can be a multitude of things
My lovely ampersand

We're not a house of strangers anymore
No cobweb takes a chance upon our door

There's a hope I horde and hold on to
It comforts like a song
That you'll find the spark that guides you through
The dark before I'm gone

We're not a house of strangers anymore
With chosen crest of black upon our door