The Calendar Hung Itself...
Does he kiss your eyelids in the morningWhen you start to raise your head?And does he sing to you, incessantly,From the space between your bed and wall?Does he walk around all day at school,With his feet inside your shoes?Looking down every few stepsTo pretend he walks with you?Oh, Does he know that place below your neckThat's your favorite to be touched?And does he cry through broken sentences like,"I love you far too much"?
Does he lay awake listening to your breath?Worried you smoke too many cigarettes?Is he coughing now?On a bathroom floor?For every speck of tileThere's a thousand moreYou won't ever seeBut must hold inside yourselfEternally
Well, I dragged your ghost across the countryAnd we plotted out my deathIn every city, memories would whisper,"Here is where you rest."
I was determined in ChicagoBut I dug my teeth into my kneesAnd I settled for a telephoneSang into your machine,
"You are my sunshine,My only sunshine.You are my sunshine,My only sunshine."
And I kissed a girl with a broken jawThat her father gave to herShe had eyes bright enough to burn me ;They reminded me of yoursAnd in a story told, she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised fieldAnd there were rows of ripe tomatoes, where a secret was concealedAnd it rose like thunderClapped under our handsAnd it stretched for centuriesTo a diary entry's endWhere I wrote,
"You make me happy,Oh, when skies are gray.You make me happyOh, when skies are gray, and gray, and gray."
Well the clock's heart it hangs inside its open chestWith its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itselfBut I will not weepFor those dying daysFor all the ones who've leftThere's a few that stayedAnd they found me hereAnd pulled me from the grassWhere I was laid