I am the sticky toffee pudding from our pub down the road
Where quiz nights meet the bright lights of my teenage nights
Constrained by towers of concrete history Mr. Barnett showed me.
I am the Summer Sierras of Northern California
Finding home in the dirt that taught me how to love
From the mountains to the marmots of the country I was raised to hate.
I am my childhood dinners of blini with sour cream
Where the Russian winters keeping me warm
Crashed down as the only reality I knew turned
to a whirlwind move into the future.