There was a wooden house Where no one lived, but the man who’s now old In the house, there was a golden door With silver knob The old said „ dreams and fantasies through that door, are born „
This old man, was bald, all this hair has fallen down He told me tales, of how he lived When his lover, in her lungs still had air And when their child, played in the yard
This old man, was sick and tired He told me, about the war that killed them all. I politely asked, who are those? He said, „ my friends , my dear”, is this odd?
They did not live to have a children of their own. They did not reach, to grow old. They did not survive, to have a family to fight for.
I am young, and not yet wise enough So i will listen to the Old. I asked him again once more, what lies through the golden door?
He said to me „a place where i relive my youth” He said to me „a place where, i still clearly hear the birds sing” He said to me „ a place where the woman i loved still lives”
He said to me „ Where your father played with me, before he too grew old,
And then you my dear, then you were born.
Hope you all enjoyed it.