(This is the tale of the house without sorrow)​

 

There was a house with burgundy walls,

Thirteen windows to watch the fall.

It took the storm, it heard the rain,

But never once let in the pain.

​

Alone it stood, with windows gold,

A place of good, for growing old.

The chimney burned, smoke took flight,

Stars were born from its flames at night.

​​

No grief would come through its door,

Innocents resting hurt no more.

Here stood the house,

The house without sorrow.

​

But deep inside, a shadow grew,

A hidden room no light broke through.

A door unopened, where none had gone,

A clock that ticked, but counted to none.

​

Its promise wanes, we don't know why.

No house can silence the tears we cry.

Once stood the house,

The house without sorrow.

​

No house is free from dark’s embrace.

Yet still we build, we long, we chase.

The house without sorrow may never be true,

But dreaming of it makes life new.

 

(Thus ends the tale of the house without sorrow)​