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Booth |
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Rows rule the garden, flowers divided |
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Habit embroidered through soil and its borders |
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Our politics of arranging our objects |
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Longitude, latitude, time zone. |
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I was a guest in the house where I lived |
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Twelve months of mail addressed where to lay my head |
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A policy of common cartography |
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Longitude, latitude, time zone. |
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And all I want to say to you, my love |
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Is you're my home, you're my home |
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You're my home, you're my home. |
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Wool weaves a pattern, bodies warm a blanket |
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Love fills its quarters in cross roads and its corners |
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Above this globe the sun casts no shadow |
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No dark lines, no road signs, no road. |
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And all I want to say to you, my love |
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Is you're my home, you're my home |
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You're my home, you're my home |
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You're my home. |
