House of Strangers

Well, I'm leaning on What's left of what has been And still to come And the present tense Eludes all sense And haunts this native son There's a truth or two or three or four Depends on where you stand You can be a multitude of things My lovely ampersand We're not a house of strangers anymore No cobweb takes a chance upon our door There's a hope I horde And hold onto It comforts like a song That you'll find the spark That guides you through the dark Before I'm gone We're not a house of strangers anymore With chosen crest of black upon our door