Home

There is a small strip of land in the wilds, that i call Home more than i can owe, whose roots are gardened by the synths of Sun whose walls are smelted by marks of stone the walls un-breached by surface roughs, their insides level-drain over the years, where the ferns and trellises grow their tan the stoneskin sheds its guttural fear This is my Home I'm Home alone This is my Home MY words are set in stone I made the planks by the Sawmill cut till the powdered woods, the earth absorb I tilled the ground till sweat pours hard till the Sun gazed like a glowing orb I didn't want to disturb the sloes, the blackthorns were my load of life, my shattered apiary the way they grow, rather trimming to suit my needs I like the way they grow I like them wild without the cut of knife This is my Home I'm Home alone This is my Home MY words are set in stone This is my Home I'm Home alone This is my Home MY world alone..