As I close the door for the very last time br I hear the sounnd of creaking metal grind. br The rubbing of the wood upon the floor br Sounds of which I shall hear no more. br br Shutting behind me an endless past br Leaving fingerprints upon the glass, br heavy with memories, these feet linger with each step br past the place my schoolfriends and I each morning met. br br Turning back I face the time defying tree br when once scaled the Canary wharf I could see br Until Mother caught sight and shouted me down br with promises of punisment and a motherly frown. br br Through the curtainless windows I peek through br scanning empty rooms I shall never again step into br How queer they seem when stripped and bare br It was as if we was never there. br br 'Sold' says the sign at the end of the drive br Yet within the walls our times are alive. br The blowing of the Birthday Candle, br The silence when asked who broke the handle br br The Tears shed when Grandma passed away br The morning frenzy on Christmas days br Within those walls shall those times go br Whether there shall be more I do not know. br br Down the street past the old sweet shop br where we would line our pockets with sweets until they'd drop, br Up the neverending steep steep street br Past the Jones's whose garden is still so neat. br br Till the house is but an image fading from sight br A street light dying in the dead of night. br Round the corner then finnally it is gone br But little old house within my heart you live on.