I saw you so still, so cold,
you laid outside the road,
your eyes were still open slight,
you left on that summer night.
Your mother was so confused,
her nose dug under your bruise.
She looked up at me, she spoke,
“Why bother? we’re all just smoke.”
Well I’ll tell you why:
It could have been you.
I drove back along the coast,
with hanging grey trees so close.
My passenger stayed asleep,
intoxicated deep.
So I went home and stared
out the window, I’m not prepared,
if I’m just going to be the rose
you drop on my final home.
It’s starting to rain inside,
let’s stay outside tonight.
It’s starting to pour.