November 1951 Bad Things Happen When Its Quiet
Day by day I'll grow
Stretching bone over bone
Pushing you out to see
Where the tide's been pulling me
And when you're barely there
Trust my care and worry to
Lift your hands in the dark
To a small and grateful heart

Then stitch my bitten breast
With threads of happiness
And swallow me with wine
One day you're gonna die
In your own arms instead of mine

Glum November sun
Throws a pale apology
Upon the grave we made
And along this shallow bay
For every dollar down
You lost, before you found
It was harder to grieve than let me go
To a soft and a loving hold
But I would give away
This gentle Saturday
To listen to you pine
My house is echoing
With your mistakes instead of mine

You climb all over me
In muscle memory
And see your sadness in my eyes
Your voice is killing me
But bad things happen when it's quiet