21:23"Do you know what a home is? I don’t wanna go to Italy no more. I don’t wanna go nowhere no more. You end up crashing in a private airplane in the mountains of Tennessee. Or Sicily! I don’t know. I just wanna go home." — Bob Dylan

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My dusty tears from November rose from my stomach - were acid on my teeth
Smeared makeup and unshaven faces burnt their hearts for warmth in the street

He heard her voice on the sun-cut crosswalk and on white let his barefeet bleed
But he won’t get far as Frisco with Carmella still back East

I can buy a dollar and fifty-six cents worth of salvation and be buried in the same place
But no amount of blackened, burnt sleep will make you unwarm remembering that face

And reverent your ashes will stand watch from the corner I left them
Denver couldn’t remember me in the way you knew my handprint

In the foggy winter window haze I gladly let my ached soul be torn
My poison headache finally sank and your side of the sheets felt warm