The House Where We Grew

I drove back yesterday

to the street I used to know

the trees were getting taller

but the house was getting small

There was a mark upon the doorway where my mother wrote my

name

a little piece of childhood

that somehow still remained

The house where we grew is still standing there

holding all the stories floating in the air

The house where we grew

doesn't look the same

but I still hear the footsteps

calling out my name (mmm)

The rooms have changed forever

the colors faded away

but every little corner

still remembers yesterday

Maybe home is not a place

maybe it's the time we leave behind

The house where we grew

is still alive (oh-oh)