A key to a door-- is what I am looking for. A life to a soul-- which burns quietly in a dark room With a flame of fiery red anger A subtle stab of pain wrings my eyes which try to watch through that flame To look and find something in the murky silence. Perhaps it is my imagination, to let that flame pierce my mind I think it is a lie to say I am happy That dull throbbing pain persists These tears wet my cheeks Silently is the game going on And I, a mere spectre of my past revolving in the faraway mist of time Let the key come to me by itself In this darkness I stand My hands outstretched, fingers numb with pain Let the silver sliver itself into bright sparks of life And ignite the very base of this heart-- This room; this door; this flame, and this world; For many stand there, besides me-- In the long, lonely and dreary wait.