"It means you are home,"
I've heard her say countless times,
"It means wherever you are is your home."
that's the truest thing I've learned on this trip,
You are your own home
and it may be lonesome and cold,
uncomfortable at times but damn, it's the truth.

 You are your own home
and I am on the other side of the world
wondering why people are still people
Drinking coffee,
smoking cigarettes,
stealing people's laundry from the wash room

 My darling, though this may be true,
you are me and I am you,
I'm living in half of a home,
there is no roof, no walls,
the rain drips in and down all the time
I'm listening to you sing,
wishing I could write like that,
wishing to contribute to it all
instead of run away from it
if that's even what this has been

Oh home, home you are me and I am you.

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