I think that you might notice That I may have gone too soon When you stumble upon houses with not enough doors And too many empty rooms
I think it might hit you When you walk past my swung open door With no warmth to the core With no bags on the floor So I'm not the coldest thing that you knew
Honestly, it'll hit you When the carpets unvacuumed for days "It's so messy," you'll say Like this is fixed with a broom How's that house with no windows, And too many rooms?
I don't fill my days with nothingness I don't sleep until noon For air, I crack the windows And I rearrange the rooms
And it's fine by me If you think I can't leave a minute too soon Someday I'll return, won't look through your windows, Someday I won't want a room.