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Home is where you dread coming back to.

It's where the heart is

Nailed to the floor, to the wall,

Hanging from the ceiling on a hook

To be a punching bag for those bigger than you, stronger than you,

Which is everyone.

You punch or be punched.

Abuse or be abused.

Either way, what a place to be.

If my heart doesn't drop to my feet

When I turn the knob

Is it really home?