For home is in the eyes of my friends and my kin,
beside the deep footsteps where my lover has been.
It is found by the shadow of the one I do miss,
next to the smell of that fragrant last kiss.
So where is my home, let me find it once more,
for it exists near my heart, of that I am sure.

Where are you from?
What a question...

My mind is from a place of quiet consolation,
My heart is missing.
I am forever searching for a place of belonging...
A place that perhaps might one day feel like home.

Where are you from?
If only I knew.

Memories of sunshine and joy are so far out of reach,
and coldness and ice surround me, not letting me see.
Ich will hier raus, hole mich hier endlich raus!

Ich komme aus einem Land voller Freude und Liebe,
Lande aber in der Trauer meines Kopfes.
Why is it so difficult for me to let go, to move on?
Perhaps one day, I will be able to.

Where are you from?
I do not know, but maybe I will one day...

Seeking the warmth of Love and Happiness,
I yearn for familiarity and family.
Pain and longing—I am familiar with.
Family... not so much.

Where are you from?
From sleepless nights and silent screams,
From questions left unanswered,
From a mirror that does not reflect the soul it holds.
Ich bin nicht von hier,
Doch wo ist hier, wenn alles fremd bleibt?

I build homes in dreams,
but wake up in rubble.
Still, a flicker of hope stays lit—
a whisper that somewhere, I will find my place.

Please help me find my place...

One day I might answer,
not with silence or a sigh,
but with a smile that says:
"I come from within—
from everything I've survived,
and all that I am becoming."

if i were dead,
what circle of hell would i call home?

We can never be normal again,
We can never be the same again.
Is that how things were always meant
To be in the end?

I see you in the bathroom mirror
Looking back at me with the same face
Every time I go back
To that place.

Was it ever, really, truly home?
Or the only landmark you know?
Will I ever go back to that room
And talk to you?

Did we actually mean it as a joke?
Or was that the only way we could cope?
Will   I   ever   go   back   to   that   room
                                                            ­       And     talk
                                                            ­                         to     you?

Haven't
The weight of a home:
Just misery, in a wait, saving meant
For a friend, a shape of things to come

To come in a reign
Of symmetry, any old heart
Of wishes will do; a hunger for fame
That esteem, is an escort to choose smart

From a handier salt...
The world to confirm, candor
Of a needy walk with fault
Before a care has the truth, to serve

A shadow, a fear's angel...
With a borrowed tear...?
Fly away, and heed the gait of hell
Is my nobility, a truer crush of we're?

Pipe's of hatred?
Introducing a friend
As a copious blossom of a time, to lead
Another nefarious and austere means, away from sin...

I'll always remember the mornings at home.
Where no one was happy, where everyone swore,
where sadness and anger mixed together and formed

a moody gray. Like the one in the sky before the sun came out
that almost looked blue against that house.
Probably because nothing could have had so little color
as a 7'am morning at home.