Home Is Where The Art Is

By Abbie Longmate

She’ll get out of this dead-end town.

Aye, she’ll leave us all behind.

Nothing left for you here love.

Don’t forget us when you’re famous, mind.

She moved up yesterday.

Aye, quaint little place.

You’re gonna make a life for yourself here,

Your own independent space.

She looks like she’s having a blast.

Aye, an’ that course sounds fun.

Give us a call when you get a chance, love,

If you get your essay done.

She’s feeling homesick already.

Aye, bet she misses her mum.

You can’t give up already,

Look at how far you’ve come.

She’s coming back next weekend.

Aye, most of ‘em do.

Cheer up love, don’t cry like this,

It’s only ‘cos you’re somewhere new.

She feels a bit lost up in that place.

Aye, course she does, poor kid.

You deserve to be there, you work so hard,

You’re living the life we never did.

She struggles to write when she’s up there.

Aye, but art is formed from love, remember this.

Bless you chuck, just think of us from afar,

‘Cos home is where the art is.