Going Home

A small town lays nestled between the mountains
  and the river 
Everyone knows who you are and where you came from
   Does it really matter that your family has nothing
to say is their own 

No paved road, just red clay dirt and gravel 
  Time stands still on hot summer days 
Sitting on a wooden bridge dreaming of all the
  places I might someday travel

Thinking about what it would be like to leave this place
  and wander about until I reach my own space
Saying goodbye to no one, leaving them to wonder why
   I did not even leave a trace

Would anybody notice the little girl is not on the bridge today
  as they pass by on their way to town or would they say
Oh my goodness, I wonder what happened to that girl 
  What was her name anyway?

I speak to no one about my plans to escape the neverending
  boredom 
As I fear that they would tell the wrong person and they would lay
  claim to my ticket on the train to freedom

Do they look at my face and just know that I am sad 
  Or does the mask I wear so frequently 
Suggest that I am just like any other little girl laughing and
  giggling with her friends and wishing for a good time to be had

Finally, I realize that traveling might not be so great  
  Because in my twelfth year my Mother decides she will go
Daring to attempt an escape she has so carefully planned
  Wondering how she kept the secret and letting no one know

Remembering that on those long hot summer days 
  While sipping soda from an ice cold bottle 
What else are you going to do but dream of all the places
  there are to see and all the people you could meet

Surely you are not the only person with this plan in mind
  As you are both from the same kind
Poor, hopeless, sitting there watching life pass by 
  Knowing you cannot ever give up and you are not blind

You can see the end of the old dirt road
  Just past the big oak tree in the church yard
The paved road begins and so does the path to the life
  And now you will go forth 

Can you come home again?
  Is your mind still intact at the end of your journey?
If so, then home is always just one more trip down a
  red clay dirt road to nowhere