Listening to the ocean, pieces of heaven falling. Nothing hurts anymore, that is why freedom is calling. All I can think about is you, but today I can see it. Home, from Alabama to Arkansas. Home, oh, I'm close to home.
When he calls me pretty, I feel like I could just float. Hearing simple songs, until I find someone to hold me close. No one could say no to this, no one could. Only you, only you can stay. Even if you are no good.
Car rides on the south coast. Does she sing like I would? All I know is that she is a lady, more than I ever could. But this is all an illusion they say. All I know is that you and I were back then. Making me cry in my prom dress when I felt like myself again.
But I am always upset, that you could never see us falling in love. All of my grace such a shame that you didn't know when push comes to shove.
We lay in the grass. Not afraid of what is going to pass. His father lays in the flowers below. Watching his son grow and grow. He sings his song among the trees. Listen and wait, You'll hear it in the breeze. His guitar strumming loud. Drowning out the crowd. The children play amongst the flowers. Staring at the beautiful sight. Come sweet child before the grass begins to bite. Take your things and I'll tell you good night.
Father and son, he told him not to worry. He will be back very soon. Just remember he will be back by the moon. You never see him when he's gone. Just remember his song. He never made it back during the night. Watching his crew battle and fight. His song flies high and begins to soar. Raise his flags high. Oh, how father you can fly.
Forget me not. He said as he left. Lead me back to the hills.
The road to home. Gone at last. Music to my ears. Drowning out my thoughts. Beauty in a picture. It feels like a pool in the brain. Running farther, and farther away. Running away from thoughts. Running from hope. Falling from the skies. A poem singing...
Take me home.
Take me home.
Cries of an angel. Something that occurs only once. A moving picture. It hits your heart. It hits your brain. Where is this coming from? When did you learn to think like this? When will it stop? Words singing...
Simple songs speak clearly. Moving from one person to another. Meaning. That's the whole point, right? The meaning of life? To have meaning?
Laughs. That's what they are. They make you go down and up.
A sweet, creamy smell. But that is only what your nose can tell. Just by itself, it has a spicy feel. A feeling of warmth, a feeling of thrill. The taste of vanilla is good for a chill. Baking cookies and cakes, desserts galore. Sending you back to your year four. Mixing ingredients with your grandmother. Teaching her tactics to another. Sweet and spicy; a mix in one. You'll use it until you’re done.
A spicy, outgoing smell. But that is not the only thing you can tell. Musty, hot, spiced, and warm. The taste and smell are like an art form. You can make pies and rolls. The spice of cinnamon is what controls. The forced feeling is there for sure. The taste of cinnamon is like a detour. You think it will be sweet but it’s definitely spicy. The road you take will really be icy.
Along with the fields of gray, Music begins to sway. The songbird begins to sing, The noises of Spring. Yellow, blue, maybe even white. The color of the sky is such a delight. Down by the shore, The rain begins to pour. Across the bridge, between the line. Home. I once called it mine. The scented air along the way. The flowers make me want to stay. Green, pink, yellow, and blue. The rain left on cue. Run down the path and I'll meet you there. Maybe you see some cubs and a bear. Wishing you belong somewhere. Come down by the bridge and we will show you there. Home. Somewhere you can roam. Home. The reason you sing this song. Home. Somewhere you can belong. Home. You see it now. You'll turn up here somehow. Down by the bridge's bend.