From the recording Stories
Everything that we share
Where am I from, I’m not sure.
I wake in the morning, my window’s a blur
I’ve always wandered, I tend to roam.
I was born here. Is this really my home?
I moved far away, but now I’ve come back to my land
I feel like a stranger, confused and uncertain of where I stand.
It’s where we’re from, who we become and everyway that we care
It’s what we give, how we live, and everything that we share
There’s a Paris in Texas, a Paris in France
A Birmingham, Alabama. Birmingham, England.
Where do you come from, we all want to know
But what does it mean, what does it show.
Really, what’s an American. It can be hard to define
Go back far enough and you may find your roots, planted right next to mine.
Leaves fall like snow where the cherry trees grow in the town where I was born
I look up to see, my stars followed me all this time.
They’re watching. They’re watching. They’re watching us as we shine.
Now I live in the city that never sleeps.
Girls strut in high heels down these Manhattan streets.
We are mixed blood, hybrids, the unknown.
Korean in person is American on the phone.
We are more beautiful from all the crossing of lines
We try to fit it, yet we long to stand out, in these times