I Know That When I Go, It Will Feel Like Going Home
There's a turning point in life,
A moment in time where the pendulum swings,
In the opposite direction.
All the familiar faces of your youth,
Disappear into new lives or into death.
The people that felt like home are long gone,
And what's left is new and necessary,
But it will never quite be the 'home' you came to know as a child.
Once you reach adulthood,
And you lose enough people,
You never get to feel that kind of 'home' again.
You build a new life, with new people,
You have a house, a family, a job,
But home is a people.
The people that were there,
When you took your first breaths,
Your first steps.
I wouldn't call myself a believer,
But there has to be something after the end.
Otherwise, what's the point?
A life lived can't possibly just cease,
The spirit must live on somewhere, surely.
It's a comforting sense of faith,
To feel like you're being watched over by those who are gone.
It takes the fear out of your own time.
With so many spirits floating in the never never,
Wherever ever it is we go in the end,
It comes full circle—it has to.
And although I'll wander through life a little lost,
The walls of the house built so long ago,
Slowly being torn down and renovated,
Over and over again.
That when I go, it will feel like going home.