Expressions of lifestyle printed and bought
Tacked up, arranged, oriented like atoms spun
This was my space, my temple, my home

Here I learned to worship life's small things
All because I never had anything large
And I myself aren't significant enough

Here you and I spent time together, flying from prideful heights
Taking leaps of faith and hoping to be caught
Landing and waking up, grasping each other, grateful

I sit here as an archeologist
A war torn, weary traveler
And I've got no one to tell my story to

The family village is deserted
The language I speak is dead
No one cares about the foreign affair

I sit here in my empty room
The day before I could drive far away
But all I can think is about what to say

To the place that I used to hide away