I could never find my place amongst the farmers and the artists
I very nearly lost my way in this here market
My roots lay bare, exposed
The artistry, I'm told, is best to put on hold
A curator, so they say, is not an artist
Despite the bustling town, it was me who nearly drowned
When everything we built came crashing down
Except the weathered boards of this old house
I never found my place amongst the farmers and the artists
I very nearly lost my way in this back garden
Hey, at least we had a garden
It pays to have a garden

Our thoughts are with you
By god I miss you

Conversations with you, they continue
You timestamped yourself to my life
I remember before
and then after
I never had a chance to say bye

Conversations with you, they’re not lost
They get louder when I’m feeling lost
They’re wrapped up in your words
some I’ve never heard
They’re your colours and shapes behind glass

Conversations with you didn’t stop
These conversations with you make me strong
It’s all paper and pen or it’s your words in my head
But the comments from you
they’re not gone

Conversations with you, they continue
So I don’t think I’ll need to say bye
Through every word that I heard
your memory lives on
And when it’s quiet you live on through mine

you’re back now
but not quite how we imagined
you’re on the shelf now
with the things that never happened

I’m five percent of what I was
when I was somewhere near my peak
you can drag me to the trough
but I’ll probably never drink

you give me colors that I’ve never seen
you sit between the greys and greens
it’s never easy being lost at sea

i think about you often
the things we had in common
the things we shared across the seas
through tiny pixels on our screens