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We've almost got job security, |
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At least there's a roof over our heads. |
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There are beds in our rooms, |
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And warm plates of food |
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Waiting to be had. |
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We're not asking |
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If they want anything, |
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But we'll take |
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What you can give. |
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I can honestly say |
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At this point in my life, |
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I'm grateful for what I get. |
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So hey, |
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Why am I trying to escape, |
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When everything I need is right here |
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At home? |
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I read that every good sermon |
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It starts with a story |
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To reel the audience in. |
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But I've got no life experience, |
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Just this terrible fear |
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That I'll captivate anything. |
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If I really have your attention |
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I'm desperate for the affection |
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Of a full capacity room. |
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As sweat seeps from my pores |
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I race for the door |
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And don't want it anymore. |
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So hey, |
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Why am I trying to escape, |
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When everything I need is right here? |
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But the neighbors just called |
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You didn't make it that far. |
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They saw ya picking flowers |
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From their yard. |
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Well hip, hip, hooray |
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What a wonderful escape. |
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And the way that I see |
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I see nothing at all, |
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I'm blindfolded in the backseat |
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Of a car. |
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Just drop me somewhere, |
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I can't retrace my steps. |
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Can I come back yet |
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To the only place |
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That clears my head? |
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To my home. |
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Yes, I learned my lesson, |
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But I'll always be restless, |
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I can assure you of that. |
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Even in the kingdom of heaven |
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I'll be asking the question, |
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"What's it like in hell"? |
