She sits on old sheets that upholster her chair,
Withered dreams gently handled with care,
All alone simply passing the hours,
Stale memories like crumbling flowers.
Trinkets from the past, so carefully arranged,
Wishing the moments they captured, could somehow be changed.
Counting chimes with the clock on the wall,
For the Master was coming to call.
Chorus:
The room beneath the stairs,
Where she gathers all her worries, fears and cares,
And the secrets she never shares.
Afraid to let Him go,
But desperately afraid to let Him know,
About the room beneath the stairs.
His visits were coming more frequently now,
She looked forward to the time that they shared,
The walks through the hills in the summertime shade,
And the brokenness He repaired.
But as the dusk engulfed each day,
He found her quietly, slipping away,
Slipping away.
Bridge:
And she implored Him, “Master, This house is big and I’m all alone”
“Please choose a room and make this place Your home”.
But the yearning in her eyes, quickly widened with desperate glares,
When she saw His finger pointing, to the room beneath the stairs.
Lonely halls,
It’s been sometime since the Master’s come to call.
Herb Williams: August 3 1998 revised December 2000