I don't like thinking this way, but the truth is I'm scared. I'm scared out of my mind.
Appropriately I've been listening to this song a lot this week. It's a song based on a poem by Robert Louis Stephenson, and is on the Martha Wainwright album I'm in love with.
Home no more home to me, whither must I wander?
Hunger my driver, I go where I must.
Cold blows the winter wind over hill and heather:
Thick drives the rain and my roof is in the dust.
Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof-tree,
The true word of welcome was spoken in the door -
Dear days of old with the faces in the firelight,
Kind folks of old, you come again no more.