Home

Home 

The noise has bled from street and stone,
The city wears a shroud of gray.
I stand amidst the crowd, alone—
I am going home; there's nothing here after today.

The echoes of the promises made
Have withered on the dying vine.
The brilliance of the game has frayed,
And left no warmth that I can claim as mine.

Let others chase the phantom light,
Or build their castles in the clay.
My soul has turned toward the night—
I am going home; there's nothing here after today.

Pack the memories, leave the dust,
Fold the chapters that were read.
The rusted anchor loses trust,
When skies are heavy overhead.

The miles stretch out, a quiet track,
To wash the weary world away.
There is no reason looking back—
I am going home; there's nothing here after today.