Home

Now, I've always thought home was a feeling
...but what if I was wrong,
and it turns out that home is a person,
when I thought that home was a song?
What of the home that you've felt like
since the fourteen-year-old us was dawning,
and the home of waking up beside you,
your hand slipped into mine with 'good morning'?

Tell me home,
tell me love,
tell me something real,
tell me golden ages await bright.

See, I thought that love was a feeling,
but what if it turns out I'm wrong,
and love is a cocktail of chemicals,
when I thought that love was a song?
What if my love is a downpour,
to become sad sharp pain at your hands,
and what if the ocean's a puddle,
and beached by debris, not golden sands?

Tell me home,
tell me love,
tell me something real,
tell me golden ages await bright.

Tell me when,
tell me true,
tell me how you feel
about living towards face to face goodnights.