Into your cold ring of keys,
Each one slightly different.
The sky is one big lock,
Don’t you think so?
When you look so longingly
At snowball clouds,
Gathering steam as they roll along,
Aren’t you the least bit curious
About what’s inside?
The merry-go-round rain,
All the puddles of flames
That drip from the centre.
Or do you still distinguish
A difference between the door
That takes you in,
And the door that stings your eyes
As you leave your paradise?
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