[Instrumental]

Soft slipping of your body to the ground was a ruinous sermon

My hands to your chest, a ruthless hour in prayer, fervent

Your eyelashes and breath were a cry for your jack-rabbit return

Sometimes I try to soothe my mind, but there isn't much to go on

Fingers to your flesh, your blood, but it's all wrong

And there's nothing to go on, now

I thought

How can you be breathing right now?

How dare you become a memory?