Lyric

The scent of paper in a quiet room

Shadows on the desk, in the afternoon gloom

Though no one is there, the traces remain

Words half-written, broken in the grain

Time keeps piling up, so gently and so slow

Even though my voice won’t reach you anymore

Ordinary days keep knocking at my door

In the smudges of the pencil, faded gray

I can feel your warmth from just the other day

I find no reason left to cry my eyes out

Just rows of words, without a shadow of a doubt

Like a simple record of what used to be

As I turn the final page, what do I see?

Only an empty space was waiting for me

But still, I know, I have the proof right here

The evidence you lived, and that you were near

──And there, on the back cover, written so small

"Welcome home."