Bathed warm in sepia tone. Filtered through time, still not half grown. Framed memories of summertime. Endless and safe, still skin and bone. Years before the nest was flown. Airbrushed, sublime, truth still unknown. Before the first curve was thrown. It calls you to come back home. Sentiment now long since gone. Life in its prime eats up its own. What once was a stepping-stone enthralls you. You can't go home. Come back home. You can't go home
Written by: Barry Lott, Corby Caldwell, Joseph Dellacroce
