A book of doors opened in front of me
And on that very first page was one that was locked.
Hammered and battered, the door knob shattered
It sat there closed off and blocked.
So I turned the page to see a door of books
Open wide like the legs of a lover
Lying in wait, like a fish on a plate
On a table too long for its cover.
Then I turned to page three of the book of doors
And found no door in a room
All the books had been cleared, as though something they feared
And all that was left was the broom.
A book of doors closed behind me
And so all that could be seen was behind
My soul it did yearn, my head it did turn
But no book of doors could I find.