Love Poem Track 2

My humble home,
Without discipline in any form
Becomes my prison and my sanctuary
My shelter from the storm
Every wall in this room is tattered
Everyday more battered,
But still there is hope
All this place needs to be fixed
Is but a warm kiss
Upon the cold concrete
And slowly the walls will begin to peel
With the feel of both your hands pressed against
the rough surface
Run your fingers across the outside
And listen closely as you glide
For yet there is still time
When you hear the beating of a drum
Stop, and close your mind to mine
And set my heart free...