My fleeting sense of home has already been and gone.
I swear everything is fine but it feels all wrong
I thought home was a place, a sight, a view.
Home is a thought, a light, it's you.

My youth taken early before the dust could even settle
I was sown amongst weeds, ivy and nettle
I could not rise above them so I forked my tongue
With a grin I would hide, and with a joke I would run.