There is a touch of you left behind still,

There is a feeling that you remain here 'til

I wake with the sun starting to peak.

I seek you out with sleep-numbed fingers,

Across the sheets where your scent still lingers.

Oh, my heart is filled with this bleak

Feeling. Like the world was ripped from under

My feet and now I lie here asunder.

But I will not give up, I will not crumble.

I am a ghost as these days go passed,

I feel nothing in the heart of this vast

Aching. Will you watch me stumble?

As I try to move, to make something

That does not consist of nothing

But your eyes, your smell, you taste.

A hundred cigarettes, a thousand beers,

A million dreams born of fears,

Of an era of so many years gone to waste.

All of this, gone to waste.

Except for the memory of your taste.