THE HOUSE THAT WAITS Verse 1 There’s a house beyond the garden, where the gravel meets the rain, and a little light above the doorway keeps on shining through the pane. There’s an old man by the window, counting things he cannot name, putting six things on the table, then putting five away again. He says, “Nothing here is missing, nothing ever leaves this place.” But he checks the lock each evening and he never meets the face. Chorus So leave the house a little light, leave the hallway wide, someone may be coming home tonight, someone who has tried. If you hear a door turn slowly, let it open if it will. There are things that wait forever when the house is standing still. Verse 2 There’s a room along the corridor with a number on the door. Someone painted over letters that were written there before. There’s a photograph beside it, turned against the wall, and a name beneath the picture that nobody will recall. In the basement, little windows show a garden in the rain. Every morning, every evening, they show the garden just the same. Chorus So leave the house a little light, leave the hallway wide, someone may be coming home tonight, someone who has tried. If you hear a door turn slowly, let it open if it will. There are things that wait forever when the house is standing still. Verse 3 I once asked the keeper softly, “Who is living here tonight?” He just smiled and took his lantern and he checked another light. Then he said, “The rooms are empty. They have always been that way.” But I heard somebody walking when he turned and walked away. Three slow steps along the carpet. One more step beside the wall. Then a little sound behind me, like a hand against the door. Bridge I found a letter in the morning. It was folded, clean and dry. There was water on the window, but the paper wasn’t wet. There were dates without a reason, there were numbers without names. There was something crossed out twice and something written underneath. I read it once. I read it twice. Then I put it back again. Some things are better left forgotten. Some things don't forget at all. Verse 4 Down beside the garden fountain, where the weeds have taken hold, there’s a path beneath the branches that was never on the old plans. And beside the iron cover someone left a little stone. Seven small things lie in the water, but the water moves alone. There’s a woman by the garden when the evening starts to fall. She never seems to come or leave there. She is simply there at all. Chorus So leave the house a little light, leave the hallway wide, someone may be coming home tonight, someone who has tried. If you hear a door turn slowly, let it open if it will. There are things that wait forever when the house is standing still. Verse 5 There are cameras in the ceiling, there are wires in the wall. Someone watches every hallway. Someone watches nothing at all. There are keys inside a drawer now, but the drawer was empty then. There are footprints by the staircase that begin and end again. And the keeper keeps on saying, “I remember every part.” But every time he tells the story there is something different in the dark. Verse 6 If you find the little doorway, don't be frightened by the rain. If the light is on above it, someone may be there again. If the number on the doorway doesn't match the one you know, don't ask who changed the number. Just remember where you go. For the house knows every visitor. It remembers every name. And the ones who leave the house behind are never quite the same. Final Chorus So leave the house a little light, leave the hallway wide, someone may be coming home tonight, someone who has tried. If you hear a door turn slowly, let it open if it will. There are things that wait forever when the house is standing still. And if someone calls your name, dear, don't be certain that they do. Outro The keeper counts the keys again. Five on the table. Five in his hand. Five in the drawer. He turns off the light. Then, from somewhere inside the house— one key turns.
