I was there twice. Two times I'd walked in thinking it’s home.
Second-guessing it both times as I stood in the hall.
These abandoned places that taught to abandon hope
handed me more ropes than there are in our old depot.

It is all a cycle – the shoulder you once leaned on
won’t be there this time, leaving you on your own,
either pointlessly leaning onto something resembling its sort
or forcing you into becoming your own support.

/it is all a cycle – the illness, the ambulance call,
as a body lies lifeless a back turns cold,
and a voice keeps saying it is his own fault
for not living and growing enough to grow old/

I was there twice, both times I got on my knees and prayed
to Our Lord, to be at the right time, in the right place.
In the inanimate bodies along my new way
I recognised all the mes that were once left strays.

But as God washed his hands in warm milk with honey
I moved in on a mountain of myselfs dying.