I think someday now
You'll come 'home'
(Or, where you’re supposed to be)
Too much the same
But far from me

I wish we could have spoken deeper
(Though I shared my thoughts with only you
And was always left the better for it)
About where we'd gone
And where 'home' could be.

You did, once, mention your father
(And only how his mother died)
A poor barber in a frozen town
Who dreamed of life and death
(I presume)

How on a cold December, early century morning
His mother’s hearse, slick with ice and snow
Lost its way
And the horses brought it crashing down
To put her body on display

(Now all this time my wide eyes
And searching soul wondered:
Why the hint of a smile forming on your lips?)
You thought the whole fiasco
Could be out of a great Dickens’ tale

Yes you did, once, mention your father
But only how his mother died when he was young
(Just like your own) but nothing more
So tell me where is 'home'?
(Or where I'm supposed to be)