The street light won't stop shining through the window
By the pullout couch where I've been sleeping
I don't know what you've been told, but I'm alright.

You signed your name a million times in cursive
On the cover of every book you own
Miss me more, miss me less, I never know.

Your parents kept on with the poems you wrote
When you were eight years old in the garage
I did too, and when I think of you, I'm like a child.

The street light won't stop shining through the window
By the pullout couch where I've been sleeping
I don't care if I sleep again, it's okay.