i was born in my backyard,nnwhere the detroit towers melt into the groundnnand from their ash, sprout hills and trees,nnwhich shade suburbia keeping her hands cleannnhere tonight to keep us stable,nnis the virgin mary drinking boxed wine across the dinner tablennin orion the tree's grow old with the pastnnthey whisper, those were good kids to bad the marriage didn't lastnnnndon't ever look behind, you may see your past.nnand if I ever hit the finish line, maybe i'll understandnnnnone year we changed, amidst autumn's leavesnnand the good wind carried us back to seannout on the waves, the salt wore off our skinnnwhich released the the first grader, who's ready to swimnnin the cheap seats of a parking lot filled with dovesnni remember this place where i kissed the girl who i first lovednni was born in my backyard, under the shade of a treenni was born in my backyard, and i'm still dreamingnnnna foundation is something that we all desirennbut suburbia's walls are no more than fuel for firesnnnni've given angels so many hoursnnto water backyard flowersnnwhere is the home, that i knownnthat has yet to be foundnnand when it snowsnnwill i go, or will i still stick aroundnnnncan i come back to orionnnand find again a childhoodnncan i come back to your rolling hillsnnand veer off the path of paint creek trailnncan i come back without solitudennand hide once again in your deepest woodnncause your voice is not one that i want to losennand if love finds me i will not refusennyour a son of a bitch, dear orionnnyour a son of a bitch, dear orion