House With No Door

There's a house with no door and I'm living there;
at nights it gets cold and the days are hard to bear inside.
There's a house with no roof, so the rain creeps in,
falling through my head as I try to think out time.
I don't know you, you say you know me;
that may be so, there's so much that I am unsure of.
You call my name, but it sounds unreal, I forget how I feel:
my body's rejecting the cure.

There's a house with no bell but then nobody calls;
I sometimes find it hard to tell if any are alive at all outside.
There's a house with no sound; yes, it's quiet there -
there's not much point in words if there's no-one to share in time.
I've learned my lines, I know them so well,
I am ready to tell whoever will finally come in
of the line in my mind that's cold in the night...
It doesn't seem right
when there's that little dark figure running.

There's a house with no door and there's no living there:
one day it became a wall... well I didn't really care at the time.
There's a house with no light, all the windows are sealed,
overtaxed and strained - now nothing is revealed but time
I don't know you, you say you know me -
that may be so, there's so much that I am unsure of.
You call my name, but it sounds unreal;
I forget how I feel, my body's rejecting the cure.
Won't somebody help me?