"Do you hear that?"

"I hear many things, child. Be more specific."

"It's a sound... but it's the sound of someone lost and wandering. It's a story, but it's a single sound... how can it be?"

"I've heard everything and nothing, child. I've heard tales on the wind and have learned to listen to light and darkness."

"Can you tell me more about the story I hear?"

"Of course. The voice in the wind is at home, but not home. Home is not a building, or anything worldly. Home is where fate pulls you, a place where you know you should be, even if logic doesn't agree. This voice's heart is in a land of exploration and mystery. That is where the voice longs to be."

"Can we take it there?"

"The voice will be decide when it returns. I will note that what he left is not what he will return to. People change, stories continue, with or without this voice."

"Where is the voice's home?"

"That is a question that brings many memories, child... perhaps the answer should remain unknown to you. And the answer is Unknown indeed..."

"Do you think the voice will go home soon?"

"Perhaps, child. Perhaps."

The future is Unknown, the past only in my head
If we were to all run away...
The story continues once the author is dead
If we were to all hide and stay...

It beckons to you
It calls to me
Home is not where you feel safe
It's where you're meant to be

Coming home is often scary
When you return, it's all destroyed
Everything you loved,
Sucked into mystery's malicious void

But this is home, and home will stay
It's always calling, calling to me
For home is never where you feel safe
It's where you're meant to be