That familiar path,
It's like I never looked back.
Outside my head,
Everything is dead and cold
And out of my control.

And its safe to say,
That the lingering scent of your skin
Is not going away.
Every day,
I relive the pain
Of walking in and out of doors
And letting you fly away.

Clip your wings,
Write you a song to sing.
And scatter every little part of my creeping calm
into the wind.

Hold back a smile,
Just like old times.
And sink the rib that I ripped from the calendar
right into him.