When we were younger we'd play in the storms
handprints on clothes and shoelaces torn.
We'd straggle in with our hair a wreck
...those were the best days of our lives.
In early morning I hear the phone ring
scuffling but beat by the answering machine –
and the words reverberate in my head
stock still, with a heart of hard lead.
All they can say is "it wasn't an accident."
The words seem to thunder and roar –
I can't seem to make sense of life anymore.
Now you've left I can't stop to wonder
why you never talked about the end
of this story, as I fight not to go under
and follow you, my dearest friend.
I'll never see your smile again.
For now I'll spend my days dancing in storms
with mud on my clothes and shoelaces torn.
I'll keep playing for you, my friend
until the day I can see you again.