Coming Home Soon

Living in this house that isn’t mine, living here, buying my time,
Waiting for the signal to box up my things and come home.
And as I’m packing, I come across a small, framed picture, of that big house and bougainvillea vine.
I’m so damned tired of these dusty streets where I roam.
I’m coming home, to the crack in the window, and dogs on the front porch lookin’ in.
I’m coming home, to a pie in the oven and your good down-home cookin’.
I’m coming home, so I can feel my roots beneath me, it’s all I wanna do.
I’m coming home soon.
But now I’m on my way, running down this long road,
Counting down the months, weeks, days til I walk through that door.
And it sometimes it gets hard, but I clutch that picture at my side,
I keep running to what I’m longing for.
I’m coming home, to that old fig tree, in the backyard, growing wild and free.
I’m coming home, to the birds singing, when I got home, warm to greet me.
I’m coming home, so I can feel my roots, beneath me, it’s all I wanna do.
I’m coming home soon.
It’s been one long year, and at times it passes so slow,
But it’ll only feel like two days when I get there, I know.
I’ll stand on the steps, and hold that picture, so I can see.
And I’ll look up, and it’ll be standing right in front me.
I’m coming home, to the crack in the window, and dogs on the front porch lookin’ in.
I’m coming home, to a pie in the oven and your good down-home cookin’.
I’m coming home, so I can feel my roots beneath me, it’s all I wanna do.
I’m coming home, to that old fig tree, in the back, growing wild and free.
I’m coming home, to the birds singing, when I got home, warm to greet me.
I’m coming home, so I can feel my roots, beneath me, it’s all I wanna do.
I’m coming home soon.

(c) Annie Styles 2014