As she sits holding her pillow tight on her most enjoyed settee
She laments to herself
"I want to go home"
But isn't home where she be?
Inside these walls made of wood
Of these windows made of glass
With family hanging upon the walls in neatly framed photographs
"No!" she cries
"This is not my home, not anymore"
She can still hear the echo of laughter throughout the rooms
Smell the perfumes and colognes
They are like ghosts in this house
This house that once was home
"So where is home?" she asks softly to herself
She silently weeps as she knows the answer
Home is where the heart is
*but of her heart,
nothing is left