Cracking mazes open at the seams,
Turning hammers spanners rachets mean,
A multitool come power and it slips between,
The maze's cracks to find a path from where it's been.

The storm outside is wide and vast astride
My house, but kept behind closed doors for now,
Its peaking through in chasing cold: a peal
Of laughter striking from the clouds above,
A yellow glow that lamps the walls and lines
My face and warms it in the chasing cold,
All's grey, but these are painted bright inside,
All's grey, but these are painted bright inside.