(no subject)

[the359]

Back home again in Indiana,
And it seems that I can see
The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright,
Through the sycamores for me.
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
Through the fields I used to roam.
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,
How I long for my In-di-ana home.

I'm gone for a week, bitches.