I hope to come home soon
but there's no place to call so.
Homesick, i think of sea air
since i turned my back on her.
No return to the sailing city
I mull over a wicked what if.
I ache to spend time alone, no
wind blows in the metropolis.
The crowd belts around me,
blocks view of the lighthouse.
Set anchor in a sea of concrete,
the saving grace’s disappeared.