Red Marlboros and Ceiling Fans

The sound of the traffic going by
Used to keep me up at night
Now I find I can't sleep without it.
And as much as it makes my eyes water
Part of me doesn't hate the cigarette smoke anymore.
This is the place I call home now.
This is the place I stay.

This room is so big and blue;
I'm almost drowning in the space.
All around are memories.
But they just seem out of place.
There are hardly any clothes on the floor.
This is the place I used to call home.
This is the place I visit.

Both places keep me safe.
Both places keep me warm.
It's just one doesn't feel so right,
And the other, I spend my nights
Dreaming, playing, laughing, thinking,
Crying, dying, smiling, singing.
And to me - that is home.