Sometimes I look out my bedroom window.
I sometimes gaze at the stars and see your face
form.
I look to the way the winds blow,
I can't seem to find my way home.
I seek the green bushes in front
of my home.
I can't find them,
they're dead,
burned.
And as I dart through the meadow,
watching it snow,
I listen for the windchimes,
but they're shattered.
I can't find my way back home.
Floating gently on the summer breeze,
I hear your voice reassure me,
it haunts me now,
like a tale I heard long ago.
And as your voice
lulls me to sleep, I realize
all I want is to be back home
again.
 
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