Facing the river,
Facing the wind,
We faced our futures,
And were scared
Of what it had sent.
But breathing deep,
Holding the air in our lungs,
We said what we meant
By holding our tongues.

Sometimes my room
Feels more like a motel.
When my bed is made,
I should be leaving soon,
Or maybe just arriving.

Home, I’ve heard
Is where the heart is,
So babe, you’ll have
To cut me in two
‘Cause my home’s
Always with you.