And now you're gone and I'm still home. I sort through rooms and stacks of souvenirs you left when you moved on. I change the light, change the sheets; give away what I can't use and hold the things I need to keep, but this dream was yours; it's in a language I can't speak. It sounds familiar in my ears, but like a tune I can't repeat And I've been writing down the things that I'm afraid I might forget: the stories you can't ever tell again. ‘Cause I'm not ready for your legacy to end. I check the mail, I check my phone like I'm expecting something soon; like you might be coming home. I am a limb torn from a chest. My nerves still twitch me 'cross the room, but I feel so directionless. My blood is old; my love is yours, and soon I'll leave this house and run to where you've gone along before ’Til then I'm writing down the things that I'm afraid I might forget: the stories you can't ever tell again. 'Cause I'm not ready for the healing to begin
From the day we met, I knew I didn't deserve you, but I've got Jonah's scorching rage at your depart. I'll probably burn this house to ashes to observe you; lay right down and let the flames become your arms. And I've been screaming since your voice no longer could, so in silence now, I boil ‘til I shake. I only wish this house of ours was so much bigger; I want the flames to light the sky across the state Rage to the rain; to the waste you left me