I Still Believe This Was Home

Verse 1 – I pay my bills, I wave hello, I know the sound my street makes at dawn, The garbage truck, the school bus sigh, The same old dog barking at nothing. I’ve lived here long enough to know Who needs help shoveling snow, Who leaves their porch light on all night In case someone’s scared to walk home. Verse 2 – I was taught this country wasn’t perfect, But it tried, and that mattered. That freedom wasn’t a prize you won, It was something you guarded for others. I believed in the words they gave us, In the stories that made us proud— Not because they said we were better, But because we stood up when it counted. Chorus – So tell me when it changed, Tell me when I missed the turn, When fear started calling itself strength And cruelty learned to wear our flag. I’m still standing where I always stood— But my country feels farther away. Verse 3 – Yesterday they shot my neighbor dead. I knew his kids. I knew his name. They said it was procedure, Said it was just the law. I stood there staring at the pavement While the sirens faded out, Thinking how easy it was For a life to disappear like that. Verse 4 – My grandfather never came home from France. Normandy took everything he had. They folded him into the flag And told us he died for freedom. He didn’t die so we’d hunt each other, Didn’t fall so we’d teach kids to hide, Didn’t bleed so men with clean hands Could send violence into the streets. Bridge – I still believe in this country. That’s what hurts the most. Because love means you feel it When something precious is being lost. If you’ve never had to fear the knock, Never wondered if tonight’s the night— Then don’t tell me this is patriotism. Don’t tell me this is right. Final Chorus – I won’t cheer for a country that feeds on fear, I won’t salute a lie wrapped in red, white, and blue. If your pride needs someone to bleed for it, Then it was never love—it was power. I still believe this was home— That’s why I refuse to watch it burn. Outro – So look at me, just like I’m looking at you: A neighbor. A worker. A name on a street. Ask yourself who this country is for now, And who it’s willing to destroy to feel strong. Because history isn’t asking what we said— It’s asking what we allowed.