| I remember when you asked me
|
| «What do you do
|
| When it doesn’t get better
|
| And you can’t decide whether
|
| To hold on tight or to let this go
|
| How do I let this go?»
|
| It was the first time I felt true cold
|
| A stone monument with heavy words
|
| I felt the weight of every one I heard
|
| I hope you know that you can call
|
| I’m here to talk things over
|
| We can stay up till the morning
|
| Or at least till we’re both sober
|
| The sorrow that you carry soon will end
|
| You’re nearly past it
|
| I’ve been there before as well, I won’t take it for granted
|
| It’s hard to accept and move on, search for better things, to rectify what was
|
| and what still remains
|
| I hope in that moment of desperation
|
| You found reconciliation
|
| I just wish you would have called
|
| We could have talked this over
|
| Waited till the morning
|
| Or at least till we were sober
|
| The burden that you carried didn’t die
|
| You only passed it
|
| The weight pulled me to my knees when I saw your casket
|
| I remember when you asked me
|
| «What do you do when it doesn’t get better?» |