Lack of Color

I want to go back to that place,
where all the rooftops are red...

You're never truly home,
when you're away from where you began...

How can I feel homesick,
For a place I don't even remember,
For a place I havent been since march of 1995.

Nestled in Bavaria, about the size of Albert Lea,
I clenched onto my moms finger with baby hands for the first time.

I've seen the streets of Paris, the waterways that weave through Venice, and to think the very gas chambers of Dachau...

But not here and certainy not now...
I just want to go back. I just want to go back and remember what it was like to forget.