Home Birds
Little home birds a-chirping In the cherry blossom tree Perhaps when I return again You'll sing that song again for me.
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Little home birds a-chirping In the cherry blossom tree Perhaps when I return again You'll sing that song again for me.
In the kitchen I remember every Sunday. Cooking eggs with my dad. As that was the only thing he knew how to make. In the hallway. I remember all the fights. My mum and dad used to have. In the lounge.
These four walls have seen it all Heard the laughs and felt the tears. Watched our love's winding path Protected family through the years.
We've left our footprints in the oddest of places. The abandoned. The dingy. The dusty. The filthy. And I always thought that any place is a good place. As long as I have you next to me.
Gleaming ringlets cascade down her pearl toga. Shimmering, ivory cloth ripples like crystal water. Glittering, precious gold swirls across her bronze skin.
#household #home @Burrfoot. I wasn't always the one,. The one to believe the hype. But if you want then I'll still tell you. Tell you the secrets of my life. 'Cause I've been waiting.
Through my beloved iPhone, I found Opussia, my home sweet home. I have no need to look for somewhere to live, I'll stay in the castle with my pussy cat Shiv.
When we moved house. I felt sad. As I watched my mum. And dad go mad. I packed my things. One by one. Cradling each item. For very long. The wagon came. And was loaded with boxes.
No matter all the sights I've seen, No matter all the sun, No matter all the summer smiles, No matter all the fun...
We're heading away now, We won't be coming back; We might be round to visit The good old family pack.
#Household @Burrfoot This carpet's worn, This carpet's torn, This carpet's full of heart. It's watched us grow, As children show, A life it's been a part.
Also the Prologue :) I like the smell of autumn. Cold crisp air entering my nose and filling my lungs. A scent of dead leaves and freshly rained on grass are mixed in my senses.
#household #home From the age of seven until I reached ten, every summer I used to go and stay with my aunt and uncle for two weeks in a little seaside village called Thorpeness on the south coast.
In a little meadow, By a little stream, A little brown mouse, Had a little dream. Of a big meadow, Of a big stream, Practicly a river, Beautifly serene.
White washed walls and festered sheets, An ancient home, the pattern repeats: I walk the halls, and smell that smell, A stomach-churning I can't quell.