Some piece of me is left behind;
perhaps my heart, perhaps my mind.
For there's one assures me I am home,
while th' other claims that I am gone.

I left my home so long ago,
is it still worthy of the name?
Or must some majority dwelling be known
by this title, the very same?

My whereabouts has changed so much,
with each new moon, I'm somewhere new.
Yet each house has its' homely touch,
for in each one, I'm finding You.

They say that home is where the heart is.
I fear there's too much truth in this.
I feel my heart is being shattered.
I feel my heart is being scattered.