Home is where the broken heart is.
One hundred pieces, one by one;
I picked them up and threw them
back to watch them break again.

Two hundred pieces, it has shattered
into an irreparable state and I no
longer have the effort. But yet again
I pick them up, to throw them down.

Three hundred pieces, by now I should
know that there is no going back.
I stand there, looking down at them.
I have to leave this place called home.

Four hundred pieces, it's broken more.
I realize now that I've done it to myself.
I trusted and swore, and now it is gone.
The last of the pieces is mine to keep.

One single piece, four hundred reasons.
The last piece forms this new life giver.  
This new heart I've gotten will remain
untouched, unwilling, unloved.

At home lays the broken heart.
I left myself there too.