You shouldn’t let them in, even when they knock on the door,
in the nights when they feel alone.
Why do you feel so insecure about your dwelling?
Why does the admiration they have for you, for you is a sense of satire?
Is it bitterness you held for yourself but couldn’t show,
or is the fear of getting hurt again?
With the clouds above, that have resentment for love,
crying over things that are out of control,
slipping from the hands of everybody beloved.
If the fear of having is letting you
close your doors made out of every damage in the past,
I want you to not let them in, even when they knock on the door.