Where I Live
I often grieve because my home is not as nice as others I have seen
In fact it's shabbier than most houses I've been in.
But I can't fret or worry
Or long for a palace, you see
'Cause I don't live inside the walls - I live inside of me.
Sometimes my home is beautiful and gay, and, oh, so carefree too
Sometimes it's desolate and dull and makes me feel quite blue
I guess it all depends
On what my mood might be
'Cause I don't live inside four walls - I live inside of me.
Some days I laugh at poverty and plan good meals from scraps and bits
And other days the thought of cooking anything just gives me fits
So what if there's food for tomorrow
To feed eight people or three?
I don't live inside these walls -- I live inside of me.
And down inside me where I live I can be just what I please
I can struggle to keep things looking nice or live my life in ease.
Sometimes my home is just a prison
Or a haven of rest it can be.
But I don't live inside these walls - I live inside of me.