Why is it that when I think of you
I see a picture of a place I used to call home
An abandoned building, if you will
An abandoned home;

I scurry to find a way to get back in
but there's none -- there's zero; it's locked
I stand there in grief, staring into the abyss of broken promises
to just turn and walk the somber streets alone

I walk these solemn streets with a head full of muck in hopes to find a new place to call home
but in all reality you were the only thing that ever gave colour to the house I used to live in alone