If I die tomorrow, let the sunrise stay
a little longer on the sheets where we lay;
tell my mother her voice was the prayer
that followed me everywhere.
Paint my name on the corner streetlight,
so I can flicker in your Friday night—
don’t bring flowers, bring a turned-up song,
we’ll hum the chorus when the beer’s half gone.
Laugh too loud, let the neighbors complain,
I’ll be the echo in that careless refrain;
and if your eyes start raining, borrow mine—
they’re still wide open on the other side.