on a plane going back
to a place not called home
but i have found myself
calling for you on its streets
and this time recovery
looks less like broken phone calls
and momentary goodbyes but
broken ribs and cracked skulls
i swore i heard the raven crackle
in pain of what was and what never
would be i guess what i'm saying
is that it wasn't supposed to end this
way but an australian girl told me
that love, mate, love it comes and goes
and as we stood in grand central station
amongst the hellos and deathly goodbyes
i realized she was right