Don’t take me away, I’m still learning the shape of your shadow on the wall;
the coffee’s half cold, the vinyl is cracked, and the night refuses to crawl.
Leave my shoes by the door, let the porch-light pretend that tomorrow will knock;
I’ll keep talking to ghosts in the smoke of your coat if you promise to watch.
I know trains are impatient, I know skies turn to gray, but the clock hasn’t finished its song;
so please, walk alone down the whistle and stone—let me miss you a little bit long.