Flashlight

You don't walk like you own this place
You don't walk like you're anybody
sit on somebody else's grave and
think about how you're
dying on your feet

You carry a flashlight through this house
You hold it up to my face
Make sure nothing's changed again
To you I've not aged a day

You still carry a memory, though
of a time I've never seen
You still swear I was always there
and I don't care to disagree

You don't walk like you own this place
You don't walk like you're anybody
sit on somebody else's grave and
think about how you're
dying on your feet

You have your moments
of a melancholic clarity
Sometimes I think it's permanent
Then you stop remembering me

I don't get to enjoy you
and when I could I didn't
But if all we know we have is right now
I don't want to forget this

You don't walk like you own this place
You don't walk like you're anybody
I don't want to sit at your grave and
think about how I'd
rather have done things