I was sitting on the lawn with a wide-eye to the sun like a dead fish in a big pond.
And as I gasped for air, I wondered where you were through the water and the murky dirt.
It didn't help at all that I'm the one you called.
It doesn't help me like I know it helps you.
Just wait, someday soon we'll be buried in the same tomb, the earth will cover us like a bruise.
The bed quakes with my weight.
The bed doesn't know that you're gone.
The bed is lucky it doesn't know you the way that I do.
And I don't want you to answer my next call.
It would just upset you.