Being touched by wanderlust while living in a house of gold,
Don't know if it is a curse or no,
Somehow the energy seems to be rising,
This ice cold storm inside becomes a burning,
And all the scenes become slow motion,
The good life on the road seems to have more action,
And somehow changing houses feel better,
Never stuck, never stationery, never stopping,
The world around keeps changing
And yet you,
You are still the same.
Running away seemed attractive
But coming home also feels fair,
It's not that you don't love them,
It's just that the nomad in you is *there*.
The slow motion scenes are captured
In that infinite camera of the eye
And the optical illusion never fades,
Somehow this getting lost doesn't seem so
Insane.
Wanderlust, no, you should say wanderlove,
This endless thirst for knowledge,
This endless hunger for change,
This endless desire for adventure,
That eternal thrust towards infinity,
Finding that one place,
Making that one memory,
Going on and on and on
Visions spinning faster than light or sound.
When home is everywhere,
It's never too near or far and
The prismic drop running off the window
While your plane takes off makes you
Giggle and smile and wonder more
At the home in the next seat,
You realise home really does have a heartbeat
And you're always home no matter where you
Go.
