The Calendar Hung Itself . . .

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head?
And does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes?
Looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you
Oh, does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched?
And does he cry through broken sentences like I love you far too much?
Does he lay awake listening to your breath?
Worried that you smoke too many cigarettes
Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor?
For every speck of tile there's a thousand more
That you won't ever see but most hold inside yourself eternally.

Well, I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death
In every city, memories would whisper, "Here is where you rest"
I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees
And I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her
She had eyes bright enough to burn me, they reminded me of yours
And in a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge sun-bruised field
And there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed
And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands
And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry's end where I wrote

"You make me happy" (whoa) oh, when the skies are gray
"You make me happy" (whoa) The skies are gray and gray and gray

Well the clock's heart it hangs inside its open chest with its hands
Stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
But I will not weep for those dying days
For all the ones who have left there are a few that stayed
And they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I was laid