Were she here now i think i would make coffee
Just to hear the hum of good machines
The sound of her voice seems to echo in the walls
In the plaster and the paint
Like a bee inside a jar
Summer slips by in tattered old clothes
Six seasons passed in cloudwatching
Miracle plants that bloom in the winter and die in the spring
I watch for her return
Were she here now i think i’d make her coffee
Or some other faux pas like before
The sound of her breathing seems to echo in the walls
In the plaster and the brick
Like a bee inside a jar
Summer slips by in tattered old clothes
Six seasons passed in cloudwatching
Miracle plants that bloom in the winter and die in the spring…
And if i listen hard enough
I hear her footsteps in the hall…