Voicemail From Before

[Intro] (tape hiss, soft acoustic guitar, distant fiddle) I forgot that message existed Till your face changed [Verse 1] Sunday mornin’ light Fell gold across the sink You were hummin’ under your breath While makin’ coffee for us both And God, it felt familiar Like some old wound closin’ Your hand brushed my back in the kitchen Neither one of us pulled away We even laughed together At somethin’ dumb on TV The kind of laugh that sneaks up Before grief remembers its name [Chorus] Maybe hearts are weather Maybe they change fast But words live longer than the people Who said ‘em in the past And there ain’t no good way To outrun what remains Once your voice gets trapped forever Inside a machine [Verse 2] You asked to use my phone Yours dyin’ on the couch I tossed it without thinkin’ Still warm from my hand Then the room went cold Quiet in a single breath I heard my own voice spillin’ Tinny through the speaker “I don’t even know who you are anymore…” “I can’t do this…” “I swear to God I’m done…” Drunk words Sharp words Words from some awful night in winter But your face didn’t know the difference [Bridge] That’s the trouble with anger It don’t disappear It fossilizes Hides in old recordings Sleeps inside technology Waitin’ for one soft moment To crawl back from the grave I wanted to tell you That man ain’t here now But the proof sounded too much like me [Final Chorus] Voicemail from before Echoes through the room And suddenly the distance came rushin’ back Like floodwater through a busted roof You set my phone down gently Like somethin’ dangerous Then stood there in the kitchen Holdin’ your own arms And I watched the warmth leave your eyes One memory at a time [Outro] (low ambient guitar swell, creaking floorboards)