| The stillness here,
|
| like what he sometimes finds inside her,
|
| hits so hard it can steal your breath forever
|
| He sometimes wonders
|
| is the sum of their lives together
|
| him on the floor and her lost to a mind in tatters
|
| These days he’s drinking for the pleasure of falling
|
| and he’s falling for the pleasure of pretending
|
| that she’s sitting by the window waiting
|
| for him to come calling
|
| If I could fix me up a week of twilight hours
|
| we’d sit on the point
|
| and watch the sun continually flounder
|
| Bathed in gold we’d plug into some kind of power
|
| and connect with those days
|
| back before all of this went sour
|
| 'Cause I’m drinking for the pleasure of falling
|
| and I’m falling for the pleasure of pretending
|
| that you’re sitting by the window waiting
|
| for me to come calling
|
| Odd how the darkness always makes us whisper
|
| and with the last of the sun
|
| you can feel the approach of the winter
|
| Now is the time of each day
|
| that I Desperately miss her
|
| I suppose I will learn how to live my life without her
|
| So you’re drinking for the pleasure of falling
|
| and you’re falling for the pleasure of pretending
|
| that I’m sitting by the window waiting
|
| for you to come calling |