And now you're gone and I'm still home. 
I sort through rooms and stacks of souvenirs you left when you moved on.
I change the light, change the sheets;
give away what I can't use and hold the things
I need to keep, but this dream was yours; 
it's in a language I can't speak. 
It sounds familiar in my ears, 
but like a tune I can't repeat 
And I've been writing down the things
that I'm afraid I might forget: 
the stories you can't ever tell again. 
‘Cause I'm not ready for your legacy to end. 
I check the mail,
I check my phone like I'm expecting something soon; like you might [bad word] home. 
I am a limb torn from a chest. 
My nerves still twitch me 'cross the room, 
but I feel so directionless. 
My blood is old; 
my love is yours, 
and soon I'll leave this house [bad word] to where you've gone along before 
’Til then I'm writing down the things that I'm afraid I might forget: the stories you can't ever tell again. 'Cause I'm not ready for the healing to begin

From the day we met,
I knew I didn't deserve you,
but I've got Jonah's scorching rage at your depart. 
I'll probably burn this house to ashes to observe you; lay right down and let the flames [bad word] your arms. And I've been screaming since your voice no longer could, so in silence now, I boil ‘til I shake. 
I only wish this house of ours was so much bigger;
I want the flames to light the sky across the state 
Rage to the rain;
 to the waste you left me