Ida August Again
Pulling back the rain is wet
We’re still inside it all
And what’s yours in the morning
By the night it all could be gone
You sound so good to me
And I have to say
I’m glad it wasn’t me
Who had to walk away
Memory is heavy when you have to write
The pictures that are scattered
They swell up in your eyes
And how much becomes yours
What can you throw away
All this it matters on moving day
sweeping out from under the bed
Afraid of what you’ll find
Looking out windows for the last time
See past that face in front of you
And lift your head
Leave the saddest room
