From the recording Home (Big Bertha)


Home (Big Bertha)

Big Bertha, we call home
Busted bumper, rusted chrome
Ripped out carpet, burnt out dome
It’s where we make our beds
Come nightfall, we pull in
Doesn’t matter where we’ve been
Every evening, same old thing
It’s how we keep our heads


Tell me, how do I find the way to get home
Feels like I’ve lost my mind, I’m so all alone
Please just reach out your hand and help me get home

Each morning on the dot
Here in home sweet parking lot
Six AM, already hot
We dress in sweat and shame
Wash up at Quickie Mart
Praying I won’t fall apart
Wishing I could press restart
Begin my life again

Each week at Heaven’s Gate
Preacher says to keep the faith
Promises it’s not too late
For things to go our way
Says Jesus loves the poor
But it seems He could show us more
If He revealed the reason for
Our struggling each day

I dream that one day soon
Come December, maybe June
This old world will change its tune
And all will finally hear
Our voices, now in pain
Singing out in hope again
Telling in their strong refrain
That better times are near