Creaky Floor Boards

Every sound is heard within
the creaky floor boards.
Every cough and every step,
door knobs are shaking,
buried secrets to who you've
become are voluntary taking.
Memories whisper of a victory,
"I know who you are
and why you stand,
I'm the only thing you've got to
always lend a helping hand."
If you dance in the fire
freshly painted china will chip,
the protective cover smear will rip,
bad endings may show off their
brutal honesty sarcasm lip,
but if the music to which you
sing doesn't offer the right strength
in who you are and why you're here,
how can you expect the result to be sincere?