At home he sits and waits
Counting the days till December
The holes in her sweater
He prays that she will stay a little longer
Outside he walks the garden
Unfolding a heart that had hardened
A cedar that might grow again
At night he remembers a time
When sitting alone was a joy
Throwing stones at a portrait of you
Learning to lose the life that he had
I'll be there for you in the long run
I'll call again in the morning
The bare open walls in the back of his mind
Starting to recognize memories
Of dreaming that he'd pushed aside
At home children are gone
Missing the games that were all kinds of colors and only for them
Watching the time they've gotten older
I'll be there for you in the long run
I'll call again in the morning