If grief was not love,
I wouldn't be here,
With a bleeding wound,
Feeling the feel that I feel,

Though ancient it seems,
Deeper is the bleeding,
And forever dripping

All of me wish you were here,
To answer these million questions at hand,
"Why, how, did you?"
Yet it goes forever unanswered,
And turns into a voicemail

If grief was not love,
I wouldn't be here
Listening to the Sunday Blues