Nothing is ever quite the same when you go home again.
I mean, when you really go home, back to your roots,
the town where you lost your first front tooth,
the door you opened on your first day of school.
You felt so small and insignificant.

Yes, I want to go home, again,
to find the same roses
blooming in the springtime,
the scattered farm houses down an old dirt road,
the ditches filled to the top when it rained.

Where I grow up as a child. I want to go home again.
Ah...the smell of fresh cut grass after a morning rain,
the Whip-poor-will singing to his mate.

Yes, I want to go home, but deep in my heart,
I know this can never be.
We are destined to be a part of the the evolution
that began in the sea.

We can never go back to where we began,
to taste the bitter sweet where life first began.
But we can dream.