| I’ve learned exactly which of the floorboards groan
|
| And how the AC exhales when it kicks on
|
| So? |
| I’ve been losing sleep
|
| I swear I heard the lilies bend, then bloom, then weep
|
| I wouldn’t call it silent
|
| It’s a different kind of quiet
|
| When you’re gone
|
| When you’re gone
|
| I start at the ice machine’s dark art
|
| My eyes go for the door, my hand to my heart
|
| I’ve gotten used to Tennessee
|
| The way the night sounds and the way the trees creak
|
| I wouldn’t call it silent
|
| It’s a different kind of quiet
|
| When you’re gone
|
| When you’re gone
|
| I wouldn’t call it silent
|
| It’s a different kind of quiet
|
| When you’re gone
|
| When you’re gone
|
| The garden calls to me, my roses in the rain
|
| The poses I maintain to seem strong
|
| I force the time to pass until you’re back again
|
| To block the wind that blows right through my bones
|
| I wouldn’t call it silent
|
| It’s a different kind of quiet
|
| When you’re gone
|
| When you’re gone
|
| I wouldn’t call it silent
|
| It’s a different kind of quiet
|
| When you’re gone
|
| When you’re gone |