Everyone just ignores that door,
They walk past, putting foot to floor,
It, we don't think, has had anyone through,
As they've scratched the name off and changed it to ant poo,
This doors sound is still to be found,
Maybe the breeze or a howling hound,
Some taste the tension in the air,
See, if the door had thoughts, it'd be 'It's not fair',
What's behind the door, have a guess,
The smell is mouldy, yet slightly fresh,
Freezing to touch and cold to feel,
This doors bearings are beginning to keel,
Everyone just ignores that door,
But if you stop to have a thought,
It's rather interesting to ponder,
Behind that door, what is there yonder.
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