Right this second,
I’m wondering how it would feel to let it all go.
Give away or trade the lighting and online post the piano
Sell the kurosawa, give away my grandpa’s desk,
Pare down the books, keeping just the ones I like the best.
Find a place for all the records, with someone who might care
To have in their collection, both hard to find and not so rare
Give away the kitchen table, older than me, to be fair
And I know that Gala likes them, but yes, even the ikea chairs.
A four poster double bed, well over one hundred years old
It’s traveled from wisconsin to the west, at least that’s what I’ve been told.
A rocking chair both green and squeaky with matching rocking footstool
Art perfect for walls, but when one has no walls, seems a fool
To keep such things and hope that I will find my place sometime
And drag them from here to there and back again seems a crime
For stuff wants to be owned by someone, that someone might not be me
I’m feeling more and more like transient meant to be.
But then I think how nice it is, to sit down and play
To have a house that’s filled with music, all night and through the day
To have books as friends familiar, their strong spines bent with use
A bed to curl up in with no need for an excuse
Beyond a simple desire that when I’m tired of the roam
It’s just so fucking nice to have a place I can call home.
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