House of My Father
The yard is strewn with weeds that jeer
at anyone who dares pass here.
My memory falters but my heart still feels
nerves from the family Ferris wheel.
I will myself to step forth-
Three steps to childhood and the front door.
Clouds hang low this time of day
as light and wind throw shadow plays.
So I return to my father's house
where the velvet staircase looms.
I ascend like a queen for my memories,
yeah, I head for my old room.
Labyrinth halls that used to scare me, c
reak and moan meak and small.
And the pictures that used to chase me,
they don't frighten me at all.
Oh, I'm older and wise.
Yes, I guess I'm stronger and kinder.
Yet I never know why love doesn't grow,
why love doesn't grow, why love doesn't grow-
in the House of My Father.

My father looks about the same,
but his mask is wearing off from the pain.
His hands clutch like I'll disappear;
his eyes tear up; I guess he's scared.
A little girl in me needs something more,
but we're both too broken to be reassured.
I leave my baggage; I say good bye;
I leave this house where my family died.
Oh, I'm older and wiser.
Yes, I guess I'm stronger and kinder.
Yet I never know why love doesn't grow,
why love doesn't grow, why love doesn't grow-
in the House of my Father.