This is the house where your dreams go wild
Where the fires are hot and your mind’s a child.
This is the house where the colours blur,
The cogs are turned, mechanics whirr.
These are the things that the artist sees;
The orange of lips, the yellow fees.
Where together a trio of women sneeze
And giggle over properties.
Here is the place where you hit your head
Where there’s ghosts in dreams
Where the past’s not dead.
Where together the Celtic monsters tread
When there should be peace, there’s mice instead.
Here is where once
I knew before
That something was wrong
In Iron or ore
Where candles were lit in fireworks roar.
Where were we going then?