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hiraeth
i feel a hiraeth for a million different places,
 'cause the homeless feel nostalgic about 
 empty spaces 
 
 and maybe i never slept in as warm a bed 
 as my fantasies lead me to believe i
 slept in instead 
 
 of the cold, hard ground pressing my cheek, 
 while millions of nice shoes pass by
 week after week
 
 well something keeps me parallel to the floor,
 and if it's my past and my memories, 
 i can't create more
 
 'cause i can't go any lower than i am right now 
 lest to dust i return and water the soil
 with the sweat on my brow
 
 so bury me next to our childhood playground 
 when i'm done trying to fly though
 i'm feeling drowned

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