Open House — Steve Forbert

Open house now for your fading heart, Tell your ghost it's time to hide; Strangers won't know when to stop and start Once they've fin'ly got inside.

Spir'ling staircase toward your dusty mind, With crates and boxes and bags and trunks; No one cares what tender dreams they'll find, All they'll see up there is junk

With silver dollars from a ragdoll's ear And merc'ry dimes for buttons, too, And flutes and whistles only kids can hear And peacock feathers green and blue.

Deep depression in a walnut grain, Afternoons on rainy days; Once it stacked up well in both your brains, And now it's all some purple haze

With vandals picking locks and breaking doors And smashing keepsakes all around; Souvenirs of love and foreign shores And scrapbook pages all unbound.

It's open house now for your fading heart, Tell your ghost it's time to hide; Strangers won't know when to stop and start Once they've fin'ly got inside.