My Home

The forest is green, clovers grow bright, You listen to the dead of night. This is my home You hear them howling, a flash of grey, Your face turns to dismay. This is my home. You hear the water rushing and gushing. This is my home. You see a cottage on a hill, You know it’s seen it’s fill. This is my home. You drive up my hill and park your car, But not too far. This is my home. You enter my home and I turn around with a mug in my hand and a gun to my face, You are such a disgrace. This is my home. I have to flee, To be me, To be free. You stole my home, Took every bone. I am coming to reclaim my home and it’s every bone.