It’s an open door, It’s an empty house,
It’s an upstairs room that I live in.
Can you close the door, can you fill the house,
Can you come up, see what I live in,
Can you make it home, make it home?
I feel the cold,
‘S not my imagination,
Same as my exploitation,
I feel so cold.
It’s an ugly war,
On an ugly floor,
And the décor’s brown and downtrodden.
Can you help the poor,
Can you help me more,
Can you get up out of your garden?
‘Cos it’s never home, never home.
My hands are numb,
No-one to dearly cherish,
Reckon I’ll nearly perish
Unless you come.
I’m an open door
To an open road,
And my wagon’s gone and walked out on me.
Can you close the door,
Can you fill my heart?
Lord, I’m only asking for something,
Lord, I’m only asking for one thing,
