The Bed Still Leans Your Way

[Verse 1 — deep, weathered baritone; fingerpicked acoustic guitar only] Six months since I heard your key, Still turn sometimes around three. Not in the lock—inside my head, Where you're still coming home to bed. Your reading glasses haven't moved, One arm bent like they always do. Your paperback still marks the page You meant to finish Saturday. They tell me I should clear this room. I tell them maybe sometime soon. [Refrain — two lines; faint pedal steel answers the vocal] But every night I slowly slide Toward the hollow on your side. [Verse 2 — bass enters quietly; longer flowing lines] We bought this mattress twelve years back, You said the old one hurt your back. You made me lie on every kind, Then picked the first one we'd declined. I laughed about the money spent. You said, "You'll thank me in the end." And every morning I'd complain You stole the covers once again. Now every blanket stays with me. There's more than enough room to sleep. Funny how the things I wanted then Are things I'd give back everything. [Refrain — melody changes slightly] The springs remember where you lay. The bed still leans your way. [Instrumental — fingerpicked acoustic and pedal steel; no drums] [Verse 3 — only four lines; nearly whispered] Your sister came to take your clothes. I let her pack what she could hold. But when she reached your nightstand drawer, I told her, "Leave that one alone." [Bridge — restrained drums finally enter; vocal becomes fuller] There's nothing holy in this place, No sign from you, no glimpse of grace. No shadow crossing through the hall, No midnight whisper through the wall. The dead don't call to say they're fine. They don't come home at closing time. And love can't bargain with the grave For one more hour, one more day. I know exactly where you are. It isn't somewhere near my heart. You're underneath a maple tree, And I'm still here where we used to be. [Instrumental Rise — low acoustic strums build beneath sustained steel guitar] [Chorus — appears for the first and only time; broad clean baritone] The bed still leans your way, Like it expects you back someday. Your body left a shallow place That time has somehow failed to change. I sleep beside what isn't there, Still leave your pillow by the chair. They say this mattress should be changed— But then what proof of you remains? So let it sag, let people say I'm only making grief remain. I couldn't keep you here with me— I'll keep the shape you used to leave. [Verse 4 — drums disappear immediately; conversational melody] Last Tuesday I woke before dawn, Reached across before I thought. My hand fell where your waist had been, And for one second, there you were again. Not spirit. Not some sacred sign. Just muscle memory lying. My sleeping body hadn't learned What waking me already knew. [Final Refrain — bare vocal and guitar] So every night I slowly slide Into the space you left behind. And every morning proves again That gravity remembers when You slept beside me anyway— The bed still leans your way. [Outro — instrumental only; pedal steel holds above the unresolved fingerpicked figure]