by Isi Ferguson’s

Not without flaw are the locks on this door

Yet still I don’t see the cause for all this mess

We might need a mild solution

A patent dilution at best

To patch up these holes

And hide the inconsistencies we all posses

Can we roll paint over our sins?

Can we quick-fix our anguish with DIY kits

Interior edition

Look the same as everybody else’s heartwood kitchen

Can we staple the wounds

From which leak all our shame

Oozing up from the cracks in the Lino

Like the dead thing in the cellar

I can smell that rotting fillet under the grill

That toxic drink we spilt

From that mouthful of bitter grime, silt and grit

That we know we should have forced back down to the basement

All this guilt

These spirits of flesh

Weren’t built to withstand so much decay

Yet it seems humanity is going there anyway

Test us with storms and we’ll struggle till we bleed

All the while what we really need is rest

Just a break from these fake walls each of us erects

Our attempt to take control over the flames

But the nails of clamour we hammer, like splitting frames

Only make the whole house shatter and break

Leaving a little, unsheltered soul

Exposed, fragile, not much

Touch me, and I’ll cry

Tell me a lie, and I’ll swallow it

Like poison disguised as a pill

From the fragmented medicinal cabinet that just might kill me

However, tell me the truth

And you might as well drill away at all I’ve got left

Because until this moth-eaten, weatherbeaten dwelling

Finally crumbles into ruin

It’s all downhill

And this ramshackle human heart can’t stand it

Our minds see the message

But over time we tend to coat it in varnish

Reflecting a trend that’s only skin deep

It’s the one thing we were always taught

We ought to know, how to build a house

We thought freedom was a box, far away from everyone else

Without realising the ball has always been in our court

And this freedom we fought for so long

Is crushed into dry dust in our hand

Dust that we bought with our very own blood

What’s it all worth in the end

The real estate of your soul

We’ll never stop

We start from scratch, hoping to patch the old house

When in fact it’s actual solid foundations we lack

So this time, build your house on the Rock

And all the horrors and terrors and humanity that

Flock to your home, don’t hide them

Lay it all out under the sky, let the fresh air wash over

And dry out all this old stuff

Like mould dies under the sun

Clean out your cupboards, spring’s barely begun

Then you won’t be afraid to display your heart

Like the unique piece of art that it is

Here’s a chance for the start to begin again

And make sure those doors stay wide, wide open