Come On Home

They say nothing to me I say nothing to them Sometimes I can't believe this is home I've heard it before I thought I'd been over that You'll never really pass The things you're afraid of The man on the plastic bag looks like terror He's starring at me. I can't say why His face seems spoiled When I think of calling a friend I notice that most of them have mutilated Into acquaintance Maybe that's my fault Maybe it's a form of getting old I'm used to small talk at the moment