The Window

All that I’ve known’s within the walls of this room
Where there’s a window, roughly boarded up
It’s true the gaps are patched, but even through the tiny cracks
I feel a wind blow, I see a light of strangest hue
And there’s nothing I can say — there’s no way I can prove
That there’s a place beyond this room
But still, there’s something in the way the light comes shining through
And in the way the curtains move
Late in the night I lay awake, my eyes fixed
On the window, I strained my ears until
I thought that I might have heard a song, somehow hiding
In the soft glow, old as time and ever new
There’s nothing I can say — there’s no way I can prove
That there’s a place beyond this room
But still, there’s something in the way the light comes shining through
And in the way the curtains move
I found a note scratched in the wall
In a pained and earnest scrawl
The hand, I recognized, was somehow mine …
I read each line with dread:
«There's no wind and there’s no light
There’s no song you hear at night
There’s nowhere to hide, be terrified
It’s all inside your head»
But still there’s something in the way
The light comes shining through
And in the way — in the way the curtains move