Don't feel like home, he's a little out,
And all these words elope, it's nothing like your poem,
Putting in, in putting in, don't feel like methadone,
A scratching voice all alone, it's nothing like your baritone.
It's nothing as it seems, the little that he needs, it's home,
The little that he sees, is nothing he concedes, it's home.
One uninvited chromosome, a blanket like the ozone.
It's nothing as it seems, all that he needs, it's home,
The little that he frees, is nothing he believes.
Saving up a sunny day, something maybe two tone,
Anything to call his own, a chip off the cornerstone,
Who's kidding, rainy day, a one way ticket headstone,
Occupations overthrown, a whisper through a megaphone,
It's nothing as it seems, the little that he needs, it's home,
The little that he sees, is nothing he concedes, It's home,
And all that he frees, a little bitter sweet, it's home,
It's nothing as it seems, the little that you see, it's home