The soul of my house,
is a window to my vain housework.

Watch me move, watch me watch me.
Inside the house on a hill, find a window looking in.

Looking in at the innocent movements, cleaning pushing, cooking.
Indeed, inside you see me from the outside.

Peirce the thin veil of the window curtains,
Past the beautiful exterior, where the inside has the darker mysteries,
And hidden corners.

Watch me vexed and looking around,
But feel my eyes, as they leak out of the windows,
and look at you.