It must be three years if it isn't a day
since last I was bitter and confused.
See, I had no idea why you were the one crying,
it wasn't you who had to figure things out.
I can count and I can spell, read and write
since I'd been old enough to run and not fall.
but there's no such thing as bread from heaven
no morning come without dead of night
no drinking whiskey and not know that too much
is going to cost you more than the bottle will.
I can tell you that this world
looks the same to me, every dusty corner
how shadows fall away from light
nothing strange or new as babies are
as sure as a knock on the door or a phone ringing
to remind me that the sky is round
ending in a circle of horizons always far
that even when I run I am held in place
the outcome of my expectations like chalk
on a wet sidewalk underneath clouds.
It must be three years now, if it isn't a day
and each one I had with you is here to stay.