Lost Eyes, Lost Skies

There's no place like home. No frightening stone to throw, like the bitter ones we know will wrap us in hate. There's nothing left on the plate-- No visions of doom to run around with you in a room, no prisons of gauche delight to sing a tune. There's nothing left to do, no time with which to prune your wings, to shear the hair you've grown and nothing else you seem to have known is ever coming back. There's no place like home. Nothing here you know.