I'd like to make it feel like you live here;
Not like you have no life outside these walls,
But rather that it won't feel odd or queer
To be with me here, and it never galls
To have to come back when the day is done.
I'd like you to be comforted and calm
Whenever you are here, and to have fun.
And most I want to make of it a balm
To spread upon your wounds when you're unwell,
So that whenever you stop by you feel
Better than before, and rest a spell
So that when leaving you can better deal.
That's what I mean; I want this to feel home-y
And not merely all Stockholm Syndrome-y.
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