Bread Crumbs And White Stones in After the Burial

So I'll keep searching, for a place called home. I'll rip my roots from this earth, into the unkonwn. Is it for the dreams I chased or the ones I caught, this mystery this misery is killing me. So now I'll leave behind a murder scene, my life isn't real, it's just a silhouette and when the sun goes down, I won't exist. I will be forfotten, bread crums and white stones can't follow me. Overwhelming, constantly i'm tearing at the seams, the threads that hold me together, they envelop me. I am a shaking man. As my body breaks against the wind, I begin slowly to unravel. Overwhleming, I'm tearing at the seams, the threads that hold me together they envelop me. And with fervor I am everywhere I thought I never would be. I will never come home, I am a ghost inside your empty house. I don't exist. I will not come home, I'll never come home.