I come from the painted front porch of my first house
That is tainted with my laughter like the colors
It blooms in the summertime, like the weeds in the cracks of the sidewalk
That the kids used to pretend were flowers

Well eventually we realized that the flowers were indeed weeds.
And I come from the weeds that bloomed around our minds like the crowns we used to wear
The vines that grew up and up and around
And the flowers that grew inside ourselves that withered away in the storm that destroyed our toy houses and cars

I come from the drunken chant of my father through his blurry vision
And the whistling chorus of his whispers that shatter into shouts on that night in the snow
I pace my room back and forth trying to rewrite the chorus and learn the words by heart
Just to have a song to sing

The words come out right for the first time in my life and I hope to God it’s real this time
And I come from the voices that sang me to sleep every night despite him
That bloom like the flower weeds in the cracks of the sidewalk
And as I stand on the tainted and painted front porch of my first house
It feels nice to be home.