Handle's cold
Made of iron & brass
And this door it used to lead
Into what is now my past
If you were to have opened this door
It would have lead you on to a floor
Where my mother had played almost 50 years before
Nuts & bolts galore
Croquet balls in drawers
Badminton nets & racquets
All Frank's undergarments
Walls get built where once there weren't any there
Locks get locked & door knobs fall off
Wood-carved roads, chip-rock rues, so turn the screws
But the weasel of my heart
Late at night unlocks the lock
Walks thru the wall
Sits down with my mother & plays a game of ball
Nuts & bolts galore
Croquet balls in drawers
Badminton nets & racquets
All Frank's undergarments
There's a door
Handle's cold
There's a door Handle's cold Made of iron & brass And this door it used to lead Into what is now my past If you were to have opened this door It would have lead you on to a floor Where my mother had played almost 50 years before Nuts & bolts galore Croquet balls in drawers Badminton nets & racquets All Frank's undergarments Walls get built where once there weren't any there Locks get locked & door knobs fall off Wood-carved roads, chip-rock rues, so turn the screws But the weasel of my heart Late at night unlocks the lock Walks thru the wall Sits down with my mother & plays a game of ball Nuts & bolts galore Croquet balls in drawers Badminton nets & racquets All Frank's undergarments There's a door Handle's cold Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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