I Don't Want to Come Home

Words and music by Bill Price

I was home and alone - hung in the gallery
All eyes were upon every side of me
Feeling like a cubist's dream come true

I don't want to come home

Reordering lives - just like a restaurant
Knowledge or knives - what is it that I want?
Hunting for hope in a garbage stack

Now I don't want to come home

Familiar as the back of my hand
Is this dream I just don't understand
Past a childhood home, flies a miserable man

I cannot go home - my home, I cannot leave
It's this paradox that's been haunting me
So what if it rains? All I need are my traveling shoes

I don't want to come home
No, I don't want to come home
I don't want to come home

© 2015 Mr. Quill Music (BMI)