If I am an old house,
Broken windows, rotted woodwork,
Walls cracked and crumbling,
Then you are the fresh plaster, the new frames, varnished and fresh.
The double glazing, the warmth, the love that turns an old house into a home.
That's what you are, my love.
You are the new furniture,
Smell the new leather couch, feel the comfort of the freshly layed carpet. The curtains, hanging freely against the gleaming windows.
That's what you are, my love.
The garden, weedless, freshly dug soil, waiting for the green green grass to grow.
The flowers waiting to be planted, waiting to bloom and rise with the sun.
The swinging seat, where lovers hold hands and be happily in love.
That's what you are, my love.
With your love, my heart has a home,
It's not a condemned building, waiting to fall apart or be demolished.
It's the best house in the neighbourhood.
That's what you make me feel, my beautiful love.
