Making My Way Home

Making My Way Home


I’m in a church, sitting on an old chair.
It’s raining outside, that’s why I’m in here.
I started out at ten tonight, heading home
stumbling down a dark street called Honeycomb.

I’ll leave when it stops raining. Then I’ll go.
I’m not going until it’s safe. That much I know.
Honeycomb can be mean and dangerous at night.
Violent muggings, stabbings, frequent gun fights.

Footsteps, glass, maybe trouble, a kid or a ghost
I hear outside. But I got Jesus as my host.
I’m in no hurry. My home ain’t going nowhere.
Just me and Jesus talking, sitting on this old chair