A Saint's Complaint

I never lived anywhere I didn’t mind leaving
I never knew anyplace I didn’t want to go
Short on the give, long on receiving
I never knew anything I didn’t want to know
I liked the towns, I liked the people
But the brown bugs in my bed
I could’ve done without
I liked the taconite, the slate roofs and steeples
A few crucial details of my whereabouts
I don’t think you should hesitate
Nothing comes to those who wait
Once I heard a saint’s complaint
He said, good things come to those who ain’t
So I moved west
To where your weather comes from
Or where your weather goes when it’s done with you
I’ve got a place here
I’ve got a family
More to love, more to feel, more to do
And more to lose
So I’ve got a taste of what I’ve been missing
There’s hardly anywhere I really want to go
There’s more to give, more room to breath in
I hardly see anyone that I don’t want to know
I don’t think you should hesitate
Nothing comes to those who wait
Once I heard a saint’s complaint
He said, good things come to those who ain’t