The Calendar Hung Itself… (Remastered)

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning, when you start to raise your head?
And does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at school, with his feet inside your shoes
Looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you?
Oh, does he know that place below your neck, that is your favourite to be touched?
And does he cry through broken sentences like, "I love you far too much?"

Does he lay awake listening to your breath?
Worried you smoke too many cigarettes
Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor?
For every speck of tile, there's a thousand more
You won't ever see, but must hold inside yourself, eternally

Well, I drug your ghost across the country, and we plotted out my death
In every city, memories would whisper, "here is where you rest"
I was determined in Chicago, but I dug my teeth into my knees
And I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw, that her father gave to her
She had eyes bright enough to burn me, they reminded me of yours
And in a story told, she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
And there were rows of ripe tomatoes, where a secret was concealed
And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands
And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry's end, where I wrote
You make me happy, oh, when skies are gray
You make me happy, oh, when skies are gray and gray and gray

Well, the clock's heart, it hangs inside its open chest with hands
Stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
But I will not weep for those dying days
For all the ones who've left, there's a few that stayed
And they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I was laid