Broken Home
Nothings ever set in stone
Home is where the heart is, but where is home?
When it’s all fallen apart, like the oldest clothes
No white picket fence or no little white gnome
No fairy pictures on the wall, with the fancy little pose
No flowers in the garden, no love no rose
No father to lead the way, no mother to hold
No sister to set me straight, no brother for me to clone
No cousins for me to holler at, when my feet touch the roads
No friends that are tight enough, for us to create a code
No people in high places for me to get a loan
It’s all a vicious cycle, starting from my broken home
by Jesse Johnson
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