You tumble your gentle words into the well of my inarticulate silence Beckoning excitedly to me to come, come And the ghosts, they donβt quite know what to do In the presence of joy as lovely as yourβs
You remember the best of me When i barely understand the worst And amidst the madding throngs quietly retell those stories of old In the most familiar of voices Until they seep into my skin and well my eyes with long streams of relief
For all my exquisite words I still cannot articulate How home draws incomprehensibly closer When you simply let me be the girl I thought I forgot