My Body Got Home Before I Did

[Warm clean guitar and melodic bass over a slow, uneven drum pulse; low distorted guitar quietly shadows the harmony] My body got home before I did. Don't know how long by. Everything happened like somebody else was wearing my life. I remember leaving. Then something went gray. I remember the morning. How'd I lose the whole day? [Low guitars become heavier without changing tempo] My body knows what it's doing. It doesn't need me around. It carries my weight through the hours while I trail behind without sound. It answers when somebody asks it. It laughs when the timing is right. Then waits for whatever is left of me to catch up sometime in the night. [Melodic refrain — aching, restrained] MY BODY GOT HOME BEFORE I DID. IT'S BEEN DOING THAT MORE AND MORE. I KEEP ARRIVING A LITTLE TOO LATE TO THE LIFE I WAS LIVING BEFORE. I'M NOT LOST. I KNOW WHERE I AM. THAT'S WHAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND. MY BODY GOT HOME BEFORE I DID. I'M STILL TRYING TO LAND. [Concise instrumental — beautiful clean lead melody over a heavy, slow syncopated groove] Sometimes I hear myself talking and wait for the words to feel mine. Sometimes I watch myself smiling half a heartbeat behind every time. Nobody seems to notice. Maybe that's why I'm afraid. How much of me could go missing before somebody sees what remained? [Music grows wider, not faster] I'M NOT ASLEEP. I'M NOT AWAKE. I'M SOMEWHERE BEHIND WHAT I DO. EVERYTHING MOVES AT THE SPEED THAT IT SHOULD— I'M THE ONLY THING NOT MOVING TOO. [Brief pause] Maybe tomorrow I'll wake where I stand. Maybe my life will come back to my hands. Maybe I'll finally arrive when I do. [Quiet] Or maybe my body will stop waiting too. [Short instrumental ending — clean melody and low guitar drift slightly out of sync, then end separately]