Always, Always, you must come home. It is in your destiny like the lines in your hand. always, you must come back, after the hunt and the expedition, to that one place that means home to you. the lap of the woman you love, the laughter of your children, the gong of the favorite church bell, even the familiar weeds in an overgrown park - who can tell, what you call home? But we can tell, for as long as we have been around, that when a man does not come home, he gets lost pretty soon. But always, they have to find their way home. it is their destiny. If the home is not real any more, you create your own cocoon - in your mind. into that mind, you retreat every night, a fugitive from the bare rocks of your reality. but you make yourself a home. and Always, you must go back to it.