I yearn for the home I do not know
It calls to me as I roam
My soul aches as I wonder
To be home, out of the thunder
There is a bed. I long for it’s comfort
It’s location, I have no proof
I am not worthy to be under its roof
I continue to search the tales
For a shelter made of lumber and nails
There is a bed. I long for it’s comfort
The aroma of a sacred celebration
Cleansed of all repeated damnation
I’m hungry for the lamb and wine
I pray one day for my soul shall align
