A louse is not a home

Sometimes it's very scary here, sometimes it's very sad
Sometimes I think I'll disappear betimes I think I have
There's a line snaking down my mirror
Splintered glass distorts my face
And though the light is strong and strange
It can't illuminate the musty corners of this place
There is a lofty, lonely, lohengrenic castle in the clouds
Yes, and I draw my murky meanings there
But seven years' dark luck is just around the corner
And in the shadows lurks the spectre of despair

A cracked mirror 'mid the drapes of the landing:
Split image, labored understanding
I'm only trying to find a place to hide my home

I've lived in houses composed of glass
Where every movement is charted
But now the monitor screens are dark
And I can't tell if silent eyes are there
My words are spiders upon the page
They spin out faith, hope and reason
But are they meet and just, or only dust
Gathering about my chair?
Sometimes I get the feeling
That there's someone else there:
The faceless watcher makes me uneasy
I can feel him through the floorboards
And his presence is creepy
He informs me that I shall be expelled
What is that but out of and into?
I don't know the nature of the door that I'd go through
I don't know the nature of the nature
That I am inside

I've lived in houses of brick and lead
Where all emotion is sacred
And if you want to devour the fruit
You must first sniff at the fragrance
And lay your body before the shrine
With poems and posies and papers
Or, if you catch the ruse, you'll have to choose
To stay, a monk, or leave, a vagrant
What is this place you call home?
Is it a sermon or a confession?
Is it the chalice that you use for protection?
Is it really only somewhere you can stay?
Is it a rule-book or a lecture?
Is it a beating at the hands of your protector?
Does the idol have feet of clay?

Home is what you make it
So my friends all say
But I rarely see their homes in these dark days
Some of them are snails
And carry houses on their backs
Others live in monuments
Which, one day, will be racks
I keep my home in place
With sellotape and tin-tacks
But I still feel there's some other force here

He who cracks the mirrors and moves the walls
Keeps staring through
The eye-slits of the portraits in my hall
He ravages my library and taps the telephone
I've never actually seen him
But I know he's in my home
And if he goes away
I can't stay here either
I believe, er, I think
Well, I don't know

I only live in one room at a time
But all of the walls are ears and all the windows, eyes
Everything else is foreign
'Home' is my wordless chant:
Mmmmmaah!
Give it a chance!

I am surrounded by flesh and bone
I am a temple of living
I am a hermit, I am a drone
And I am boring out a place to be
With secret garlands about my head
Unearthly silence is broke
The room is growing dark, and in the stark light
I see a face I know
Could this be the guy who never shows
The cracked mirror what he's feeling
Merely mumbles prayers to the ground where
He's kneeling:
"Home is home is home is home is home is home is me!"?
All you people looking for your houses
Don't throw your weight around
You might break your glasses
And if you do, you know you just can't see
And then how are you to find
The dawning of the day?
Day is just a word I use
To keep the dark at bay
And people are imaginary, nothing else exists
Except the room I'm sitting in
And, of course, the all-pervading mist
Sometimes I wonder if even that's real