The walls are made of plaster
And the bench is made of stone
The music made of nothing
And red cars are made of metal

But no they are all made of sponge

The walls hold your words
Ones that bounces off on their way to me
The bench holds your shape
Huddled broken against the cold

The music traps your voice
I feel it break my heart with every note
Red cars send me running
Thinking you must surely be inside

Your shadow selves must be paint
Spattered on every place you touched
Because how else can everything
Remind me of you so horribly

How can I hear that song
Or lean against those walls
Without coming away soaked
Covered in memories of you