I crawl underneath the bed to cry in solitude
Even though I've been here alone
Four months straight
And I sleep levitating five feet above myself
Because I can feel your weight in my bed
I bet there is still a mark on your bedroom's floor
Where I laid and succumbed to the charms of death
When you told me, when you told me...
Yet for you it is a chunk of wood
No different from your desk or the cross on the wall
No chalk, no tape, no monument
Is it wrong to wonder if you'd cry at my funeral?
Or what kind of flowers would you bring?
I wish I could wander
The doors are open
But there is no getting out
I'm the architect of my own cage
And I still don't manage to escape