Ain't nothing the same,
my projections are to blame.
Ain't no place for peace
on these blackened, vacant streets.

I'm looking for a home;
a place to rest my weary bones.
I'm searching for a home;
a place behind the melting stones.

Oh, things can't trust
and metal gadgets turn to rust.
Oh, things can't feel
and paper money isn't real.

I'm looking for a home;
a place to rest my weary bones.
I'm searching for a home;
a place behind the melting stones.

I close my eyes to find
the patterned fabric of my mind.
I close my eyes to see
the home beyond this mystery.

I'm looking for a home;
a place to rest my weary bones.
I'm searching for a home;
a place behind the melting stones.