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The Reverend John DeLore
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When I Think of Home
When I think of home it's not a city on a map.
It's not a house on a hill, not a room to be filled.
It's not a street name.
It's just the people.
Oh, when I think of home not a word comes to mind.
And the rooms that survive through the passing of time don't seem real anymore.
But the people remain.
I would be fine if you put down your pen,
And wrote no more letters to me.
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But my heart would break if I thought that it meant
You were no longer thinking of me.
Oh, when I think of home it's not a city on a map.
It's not a house on a hill, not a room to be filled.
It's not a street name.
It's just the people.
It's just the people I love.
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