When I was a baby my momma built me a paper house.

It wasn’t the strongest thing around, but she said,

“It’s kinda like your heart, babydoll.

Get it wet, break it in, watch it swell.

It’s not gonna crumble, only change,

with the words you write on it.

No one can break it, only make it stronger,

with every stroke of ink.”

When I was older, that paper house still stood,

and so did my heart.

But then my momma left and she took it all with her.

 

My paper house came tumbling down,

and every word on my heart became a scar.

 

They say some people wear their heart on their sleeve,

but my sleeve is made of bruises

and my heart is tatters that won’t cover them up.

My momma’s still gone and the world doesn’t want to see me,

so I guess I’m outta luck.

 

When I was a baby my momma shoulda built me a brick house,

or maybe some stone or maybe some steel, but she said,

“It’s kinda like your heart, babydoll,

You’ll break it, make it, fake it.

it’ll get stronger as you go,

until finally you can’t break it,

you’ve made it,

you don’t have to fake it.”

When I was older, it was still just paper,

and so was my heart.

But then my momma lied and my momma left.

 

My paper house came tumbling down,

and every word on my heart became a scar.

 

They say some people are dreamers with their head in sky,

but my head is against the wall

and my dreams are pieces of the past that can’t fly.

My momma’s still gone and the world won’t let me up,

so I guess I’m outta luck.

 

When I was a baby my momma shoulda built us a foundation,

not some unsteady life she couldn’t hold onto.