Is it the sky today,

the way that the wind's pushing the clouds,
or is it the late day sun
stretching the shadows over the ground,
that brings on these memories
of people and places that I've never seen
and voices so strange and so sweet,
asking me softly, oh yeah ...

Where is my home?

Where is my home?

What makes this person me?
Is it the little town where I was born?
Or maybe it's history,
the faces of family I've never known -

somewhere across the sea
where my great-grandmother left long ago
under a cold crying moon,
looking for something, mm ...

Where is my home?
Where is my home?

Where is my home?

Where is my home?

Where is my home?
The walls of a city,
painted with promises and words so unkind?
Where is my home?
The trees of a country
where autumn came suddenly,
that I'll never find ...

But then there's your face, my dear -
I know I'll never be walking alone.
The love in your eyes makes it clear,
telling me softly, mm ...
This is my home.

This is my home, oh yeah.

This is my home.

This is my home.

I really wish I knew where my home was right now. I feel so drifty lately, unattached to anything. I can reason out several places in this world that could be called my home ... but I just feel like an outsider.

Where is my home? The house I've lived in for over 15 years with my much-loved family? With the other one I love so very much? With my God? There could be arguments built for any of the three answers.

Love has its reasons that reason cannot see.

Perhaps they are all home. Perhaps none of them are home. Perhaps I do not have a home yet. I know I will, someday, somewhere, somehow. It just hurts to be unattached. I want to be attached. I want to be able to breathe deeply and know that I am in my place in the world.

I am not, not right now. I am in between, in limbo. I have places to stay, I have people to be with, I have an eternal Home. All of those are homes in their own ways, but right now I just feel ... disconnected.

How did I get out of this last time? I don't remember.

Where is my home?

The walls of a city,

painted with promises and words so unkind?

Where is my home?

The trees of a country

where autumn came suddenly,

that I'll never find ...

Where is my home?

Where is my home?

Where is my home?

Where is my home?

There's no place like 127.0.0.1.

If only I could make music notes into words.

I can use words.

My fingers are not adapted to music.

They don’t realize he’s alive

No one understands

This is my home.

I’m coming home.

Am I home?

My heart is in my chest, but

In a different way than it normally is.

It is heavy,

I am heavy-hearted.

I am sad.

I realize that what I’m writing is not bestseller material.

At all.

Oh well.

I’ll keep writing anyway.

Maybe something will come of it

Who knows.

I am tired.

I am hungry.

Such mindless, useless details

But maybe someone will pay for this

Somewhere down the line.

Is that what I am now?

Scratching for money, seeking cash

When I don’t really need it?

What do I want money for?

Security?

That means nothing.

Savings?

I suppose.

Later on.

Paragraphs, paragraphs, paragraphs.

Not every sentence is a paragraph, children,

But some paragraphs are sentences.

Aïe.

I’m all shivery.

I miss you.

Yes, you, no, not you – you.

You know who I’m talking about.

The one I want to be with forever and ever.

You are always here, You know that.

You aren’t always here.

I love capital letters.

You can’t tell who I’m talking about, can you.

No, you can’t.

I know.

I know what I’m saying,

Which is a relief,

Because sometimes I really don’t.

Sometimes I really have no idea of what I’m saying

Or what I mean

Or what I want

Or what I need

Or anything like that.

No trust, no certainty

Damned if I do

Damned if I don’t

So do I just try?

But there is no try.

I do what I don’t want to do

And I don’t do what I want to do

But that isn’t always the case.

Why is life full of whys and buts?

There is not nearly enough bass on this laptop.

It’s painful listening to U2 with no bass.

No foundation.

I have a foundation, a base –

I also have a bass. Hee.

They’re not the same person at all,

Which is a good thing in the end.

But oh, I am lonely,

And I am cold,

And you are not here,

But You are.

I’m rambling.

You can probably tell.

There are three yous in this musing –

You, you and you.

Do you know who you are?

Do you know who I am?

Goodbye – you can keep this suit of lights

I’ll be up with the sun

I’m not coming down

I’m not coming down

I’m not coming down

‘Cause I’m already gone

Felt that way all along

Lyrics to Major Tom (Coming Home) are (c) Shiny Toy Guns. Lyrics to Gone are (c) U2.