[04:17.00]On the first day that she’s gone, when I can’t remember why -
[04:17.00]I summon all the plans I made, I turn face-down the picture frames,
[04:17.00]I pull her hair from shower drains, I start the car - drive far away
[04:17.00]and turn home when daylight’s leaving.
[04:17.00]On the first day that she’s gone I search for sense of meaning.
[04:17.00]I need to fill a void.
[04:17.00]I talk to hear a voice.
[04:17.00]The weeks that passed I can’t recall - I stared through fence at festivals,
[04:17.00]I grit my teeth, I blame it all,
[04:17.00]I race to ends of summer sprawl -
[04:17.00]then winter.
[04:17.00]Gather up what matters.
[04:17.00]If I’m holding on too tight,
[04:17.00]Why won’t the memory shatter?
[04:17.00]On the first day that she’s gone, a different kind of numb.
[04:17.00]I see your ghost of catacombs of venues played, of empty homes -
[04:17.00]I pass your place. I call your phone. I slur some words after the tone
[04:17.00]and replay all the moments I spent in the softness of your touch,
[04:17.00]your voice singing in my head.
[04:17.00]When every day you’re gone maybe I’ll believe it -
[04:17.00]In the emptiness of all.
[04:17.00]In the sounds of children teething.