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'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 tile
There's a thousand more
You won’t ever see
But most 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, gray, gray."

Well the clock’s heart it hangs inside its open chest
With its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
But I will not weep
For those 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