That no one can know
The creak of the door
As the key turns
The tears that fall now
On the wooden floor
The parties we held here
The times we had
The spiders we watched grow
The rows we indulged in
As the TV flickered
And Bruce Forsythe talked.
Take these keys from me
And you may as well
Take my arms and my legs too.
In fact, taking these keys from us
Is tantamount to
Extracting my entrails
Tying them in a Sainsbury's bag
And leaving them in a drain.
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