The vagrant dreams of going home.
He wants a place to call his own.
"A place where I can stay, where I belong."
You can always come back here,
but you know you can't stay forever.
They always told you you'd have to leave,
But you never knew what those words would sever.
"It is not easy to accept these transient times,
where I don't own anything inside my life."
A vagrant of privilege suddenly realizes,
that nothing was ever his, lies of gifts and prizes.
The vagrant's shell is a lease,
and he owns no agency over his insides.
Once you settle in your home, at last,
arrives the moment in which you're due to part.
From all I've been given I own nothing,
nothing except maybe the skin on my back.
Something.
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