The day you left, I counted my things.
I measured spaces I didn’t know existed.
I cleaned the place of any traces.
And washed my conscience of all its contents.
But with the truth
And my thoughts of you
I’m still fighting.
Now things have changed, I’ve rearranged
I’ve got new sofas, new ways to pray.
But with the truth
And my thoughts of you
I’m still fighting.
Sunday mornings all feel so tame.
Mondays come and they’re just the same.
I’ve made my bed, here will remain.
My nighttime reading, relieves the strain.
And some would say, I live in defense
What they don’t realize, they’ve done the same.
But with the truth
And my thoughts of you
I’m still fighting.