[INTRO — whispered] I remember the kitchen. I remember the rain. I remember a spoon against a porcelain bowl. [VERSE I] I was young when the rooms were small. Summer light on the hallway wall. Someone called from downstairs. Someone loved me. Someone was there. [REFRAIN] I'm homesick for somewhere I can't go. Homesick for a time I don't know. And the smell of rice pudding in the kitchen light. And the sound of your footsteps going out of sight. [VERSE II] Cinnamon falling like brown snow. Windows breathing in the cold. A little sugar. A little heat. A little life, I could almost keep. [REFRAIN — more distant] I'm homesick for somewhere I can't go. Homesickfor a face I used to know. Rice pudding on a winter night. A warm little room inside the white. [ELECTRONIC BREAK — fragmented voice] Home... home... home is... not a place. [BRIDGE — intimate, almost spoken] Perhaps we spend our lives trying to return to the moment before we knew we had to leave. [FINAL — slowly dissolving] The bowl is empty. The house is still. The rain keeps falling over the hill. I close my eyes. The room comes back. For one small breath, I am home. [OUTRO — distant, processed] Rice... cinnamon... rain... home.
