I looked at the deep black fence posts with golden inlays
The untainted white walls of the springtime home before me
The greenery that sprawled itself so neatly along its surfaces
The ivy that entangled the door frame in a loving choke-hold
And in the palm there is a key
And in the key there is a threshold
There is a figure
A conundrum
The water in my shoes is warm
I step quickly to lessen the damp
What use is my umbrella
When I leave home without it?
You say that you adore the rain
Like life inside a washing machine
Like life inside a washing machine
Like life inside your crying eyes
And in the palm there is a key
And in the key there is a threshold
There is a figure
A conundrum