Like an old sound on the radio, a friend on my mind.
I sit here projecting out of this old place with the high ceilings and warped creaky floorboards.
For hours I'll just sit here and remember how long it's been.
I will smile at the snow outside.
I'll drink tea and rock, and I'll get up to cook.
I'll look at all the old photos again and know when I hung them.
All the pages of books I'll smell.
The guitar has been behind the couch for far too long.
I'll recall every inch of this room in silence as the dust settles,
and with every sound the floor makes I'll spring back a couple weeks.
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