The Calendar Hung Itself...

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning
When 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 steps
To pretend he walks with you?
Oh, does he know that place below your neck
That is 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 tile, there's a thousand more
You won't ever see, but must hold inside yourself
Eternally

Well, I drug your ghost across the country
And we plotted out my death
In every city, memories would whisper, "Here is where you rest"
I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees
And I settled for a telephone, sang 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 jaw that her father gave to her
She had eyes bright enough to burn me, they reminded me of yours
And in a story told she was a little girl
In a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
And there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed
And it rose like thunder clapped under our hands
And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry's end
Where I wrote

"You make me happy, oh, when skies are gray
You make me happy, oh, when skies are gray and gray and gray"

Well, the clock's heart, it hangs inside its open chest
With hands stretched toward the calendar, hanging itself
But I will not weep through these dying days
For all the ones who've left, there's a few that stayed
And they found me here and pulled me from the grass
Where I was laid