The House (That Used To Be A Home)

On the cold November sidewalk

lookin' through the rusty fence,

I stand and watch a nighthawk fly

across the dusty Pennsylvania moon.

Oh, how the wind blows

through the weeds and broken windows

of The House...

that used to be a home.

I remember holidays and picnics on the lawn,

winters by the fire,

and lazy summer nights, and songs.

We laughed together 'til we cried,

back when love still lived inside

The House...

that used to be a home.

And now we're nearly strangers

as I find you here again,

searchin' for the words to say the things

that we said then.

The old front door's blown open wide.

Seems to call us back inside

The House...

that used to be a home.

Maybe we'll find holidays and picnics on the lawn,

winters by the fire,

and lazy summer nights,

and songs.

And Maybe we'll find love again

if you and I just walk right in

The House...

that used to be a home.