Singing To A Door

to a lilting eastern euro- polka


I'm just ....
It's just....
We're just....
Singing to a door
Lunatic fringed
Swinging unhinged
Squeaking forlorn
 In the smouldering morn

My heart left ajar
After the jam
Fingers and toes
Stabbed on a rose
In old Amsterdam

Different striking poses
One opens as,
The other closes
It's....
The door
We all adore
We scoff and chortle as
We amble through the portal

--
Naku noa na

Otis Mace, Guitar Ace

www.otismace.com
www.myspace.com/otismace