As I sit in this keyhole, I look out at the room.

Fallen books and sheets of paper scatter the hard wood floor,

Which has tried to disguise itself as a blanket of dust.

But I know better, I can see the shy shade of brown

That is buried beneath the signs of its abandonment.

I can hear the cars humming, and the trains are a-running

Past this building that has yet to fall apart.

Dim morning sunlight pours into the room,

Shining through a dirt-streaked window.

Cobwebs are a-sittin’ on wooden chairs that have yet to rot,

And the walls creak as a train rumbles by.

So here I am sitting on a mighty fine morning,

In a keyhole that has long since been filled.

Though this room lay forgotten, it has maintained its peace,

Though the sad part remains quite clear:

I’m still hoping for someone to see it.