The story
He keeps walking through the ruin he made.
He stands in boot dust, staring at the trace she leaves behind in the floorboards and on his clothes, where every step sounds like what he lost. The room is still full of the small proof of her—an empty chair, a shirt on the hook, the kind of quiet that grows after an argument—and he knows the house is holding its breath.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.