The Old Home Town
Returning
Nationals sometimes can’t believe the transformation of their neighborhoods.
Sometimes we expect to return to the little
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The The
old home town didn’t look the same Had
no one there I could call by name Every
house changed and the roads were new On
the right was a shop where the apples grew Looking
around I felt lost and totally alone Didn’t
feel the comforts of the place where I’d grown How
I’d look forward to the joy of returning one day Only
it wasn’t like I’d imagined, not like my pray Memories
of this neighborhood were great Every
boyhood monument they now desecrate The
new residents had turn my treasured delight Over
into a concrete jungle that never sleeps at night Worked
hard, traveled miles, the world I’d roam Now
I’m unable to retire in the place I called home. |
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