The Wanderer ' Your Home Is In Your Chest '
So they ask me why I'm such a rolling stone,
Yet all the words pale in comparison to what I feel;
'It's not that I hate company, but I'd rather be alone.'
And I hope with a lie to a painful truth conceal.
Traveler, I prefer not a certain place,
And do search for where the memories are;
It seems that I might have a dream to chase,
Yet memories or dreams lie here and afar!
Some say that I'm just in need of a home:
Somewhere I can be sometimes at peace.
'You waste your life when you only roam,
And if you have a drop of sadness it will e'er increase.'
Arrogant, I tried but couldn't care less.
The faces that I see do always look the same,
Like the words that are said; or I guess
From all the nonsense I but numb became.
Apparently I'm not one to be advised:
After all I've chosen to walk an endless road;
Maybe I'd rather just be surprised,
Than suffer for eternity from a dread abode.
I've seen people happy, here and elsewhere;
Family is something I could never understand:
How could one the misery of others bear,
Just so they could someday these steel ties unhand!
Everyone is different in their own way,
But some things don't just make any sense at all;
Why did they raise me and then let me stray?
'Be not melancholic, you can merely so little recall.'
'Home is where the heart is, ' and so they did accost,
'Stop wandering about for a change and rest! '
I screamed, 'Not all those who wander are lost;
I know where my home is: it's in my goddamn chest! '
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