Come the winter,
Come the ghosts.
Nervous silence in the afternoons.
You don't sleep that well these days -
The shakes and early waking,
The cold stares and the faking.
It's not what it was
And you're not what you were -
The memory's off,
The pictures are blurred.
Mind divided, heart confused,
Timelines fusing as you disappear:
Shadow lives in minor chords
The wounding and the healing,
The slow drips and the peeling.
It's not what it was
And you're not who you were -
The memory's off,
The pictures all blurred.
The gap was too wide,
The window too high.
You followed your pride,
You couldn't keep your powder dry."