Home?

Old grave stone You’re the only one The friend, the way No better place to lay You’re where I rest my head Where I forget You’re my thinking stone When I’m dead alone You won’t judge When push comes to shove Six feet from above Face full of mud You except who I am But you don’t understand Nothing seems To be Quite as real to me As your hugging arms But that will wait The hour grows late I've not yet made The bed which I’ll lay Till the end of days Yours always