For me it's in those summer storms,
The smell of the rain and the thunder's roar.
It's in the salty breeze and the thick trees,
The echo of my family's laughter,
Even the tears from the inevitable Christmas disaster.
Sometimes, it's a picture you took,
Or maybe even a favourite book.
It's that worn out cardigan,
And that old CD you've lost... again.
I used to think it had to be
A place that you could go and see.
It took me far too long to figure out
The person, place, or thing is not what it's about.
Sometimes, I lose it for a while
And when I do it becomes a little harder to smile.
Though, somehow it always revives,
That feeling people search for their whole lives.
It's the feeling, the simple one,
Of home.
