My thoughts are sentimental
as I lay in bed,
thinking of my home
and the oak tree out back.

I'm sure there are still
rusted chains hanging
from that withering tree,
Left over from our swing

I'm thinking of my childhood
and what it felt like to be free
I'd like to return but
Time has aged me

So I am left with these memories
that keep sleep away
while I turn in the darkness
and await the next day