You were nothing more than a concrete barrier,
With some rooms, windows, and walls,
A shapeless structure,
With fault after fault,
And a future that had dissolved.
Yet within your rooms lived my memories,
In which I learned to crawl, walk, and speak,
In which, I learned to read, and to write,
In which I inspired to teach.
Your walls had marks,
From when I would fall,
And indications of how I grew tall,
A front yard in which I would play ball,
But you were nothing more than some rooms, windows, and walls.
Because those names we wrote on your walls,
Those indications of how we grew tall,
Were nothing but mere memories, from when we were small,
Because you were nothing more than some rooms, windows, and walls.
But as we grew older,
And the Winters seemed colder,
Your walls could not bear,
A bedroom that we had to share,
Because as adults we did not care,
That in order to get rid of you we would have to tare,
Because you were nothing more than some rooms, windows, and walls.
With some new laminate, hardwood floors, and a fresh coat of paint,
You were sold,
In the blink of an eye,
With nothing more left to say, other than bye,
Not that anyone else had cared that I had cried,
Because for me you were more than just some rooms, windows, and wall.