Homes.

Your home is like your first love – you're sure they’re your only one.
And when you pack up and leave you’ll miss them to death
no matter how far you run.

In time you'll come to consider there are others out there for you
and while the search can be tiring, testing and telling
it's foolish to think that untrue.

And while the roads are endless, there are plenty of places to stop
and maybe when you do you can resubmerge your roots
yeah, you flower, you might open right up.

‘Cause soil is sundry and tailored, and though rainfall can cause you to wilt
some flowers will float on the water
and some plants, they grow down in the silt.

So don’t anchor yourself in one place and don’t let your roots shoot down too deep
unless you’re sure that you’re outgrowing everyone else
and I assure you that’s a misbelief.

Genovese Syndrome.

I saw a car crash not too long ago -
it lay upturned and burnt out, at the side of the road -
and most people driving by had slowed;
a stalling parade of spectators.

Safe in their shells they crept on by
with slackened jaws and peeled eyes,
wondering how many had died
and whether it’d be in the papers.

There's alien children drinking dirt
and an alien man with a bullet in his heart
and your love for them should be absolute
but you're fretting over your hair.

This life has left us broken or bent
and we ignore the reminders of the consequence
but know that we all make the conscious assessment
of how far we extend our cares.