Can’t you hear the pitter patter of the gentle clatter?
Away from the walls that hear?
A gentle commotion is all that can be heard.
A lonely murmur at best.

The lonely nights… the dark lit skies.
All become familiar for my eyes.
But hark there is still life left.
Life left inside of me.

As the gentle murmur grows louder and clearer.
The walls listen harder and longer.
A phrase? Is that a statement I hear?
Inside these walls that cannot fear.

What has stirred all the commotion?
What has turned this rusty crank?
What livened up this inner piece?
That was always so cold and rank?

Perhaps this switch was tripped before.
There must be a way through the door.
What is this magical source?
What is this clamoring force?

It is I see, a force so true.
A force started by the power of two.
But does the second open widely as the first?
Or does it merely quench the thirst?

If the rumor of the second is true.
The doors only opens on a few.
The walls break down to quiet the sound.
Due to the magnificent power of two.