Prodigal Me

Here I am, back at the door

even though I don't live here anymore.

When there's no answer I should say: That's that.

But instead, I just grab the key -

I left under the mat.

I knew that I'd be back

I knew I would retreat over the track.

I hate that I'm here, it's not where I oughta be;

but it's the most familiar place,

when I am prodigal me.

The problem's always the same-

not sure if it is small pleasures, or big shame;

but when I turn the key and tumble the lock,

the two enemies I face are

the devil and the clock.

Neither one's quite as you'd fear,

one's just stoned-faced,

the other grinning ear-to-ear.

But neither makes a quick move,

while you're still at the door...

Showing temptation, and always offering more.