Number 07
February 12th, 2009

The Wind and the Stone

I sold the pickup
Parked it in the front yard
Sold the bedroom set too
Now I sleep in one of
The kid's old beds
Drive around your old Malibu
Room by room I'm movin' things around
Covering the sound of being alone
But every Sunday morning it's just you and me
The wind and the stone

An old friend says he sees your star
Twinkling right over town
And I swear, sometimes in the dark
I think I hear you shuffling around
But that's just trying to fill up the empty
When all that you send me is gone
But every Sunday morning it's just you and me
The wind and the stone

And the wind sings your whispering words
And stirs in the morning still
Across the grass, over the memories
To rest by your stone on the hill

I dug up the tulip bulbs
Put 'em in an old sack
Brought them to the couple next door
Organized the knife drawer
Cleaned out the spice rack
The ones I don't need anymore
Room by room I'm creeping real slow
Separate what I know from what I've known
But every Sunday morning it's just you and me
The wind and the stone