The Hollis wake was on Saturday,
in the house where he grew up.
Downstairs, people were laughing;
upstairs, his bedroom door was closed.

No one ate the paté;
one of the pallbearers threw up.
I think it was his cousin,
the one who asked us if we had any dope.
I think it was snowing that day,
when I read my name on his suicide note.
I couldn't breathe anymore.
I couldn't be there anymore.

I heard the news on Wednesday,
a mile from the house we shared last year.
I'd forgotten what he looked like,
but could hear his voice like he was still here.

He called it quits on Tuesday,
outside the house where he grew up.
No one was home. He was alone,
and upstairs his bedroom door was closed.
I think it was snowing that day;
maybe the cold made him lose all hope.
He wasn't breathing anymore.
He couldn't be here anymore.

This Hollis wake can't bring him back on a Saturday.
It's just microbrews and expensive catered food.
I'd smile more at the memory of him yesterday,
but it's snowing, and I'm cold,
and I'm just not in the mood.


Lyrics submitted by dso

His Bedroom Door song meanings
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