Who says you can’t go home
when the porch light’s still burning,
when the gravel road’s still turning
beneath the same old sky we painted wild?
I’ve worn these boots through a thousand dawns,
chased every neon sunrise,
but the heartbeat in my chest
still drums to the screen-door slam
and your voice on the midnight wire.
Let the highway roll its stones,
let the years keep their scars;
I’ve carried this map of memories
like a pocket full of stars.
Who says you can’t go home?
I just did—
one foot on the step,
one breath,
and the whole night opens like a hymn.