January, 1999
I brought my kodak and packed a flashlight
The door stays locked till I climb in through the window
I heard they found your body last year
It was wrapped in a blanket—they couldn't stay here
Where the closet still holds your clothes (and your distant memory)
I'll set my things on your living room floor
Investigate the cabinets, dig through the drawers
Looking for an answer in the nothing left behind—
Did your husband steal your life?
I've seen your watercolors
Your face is blurred in my mind
If you speak
Pamela, I'll hear
It really would make a good song
You're confined to your resting place, I'm living on my own
With quite a few miles in between
(And seventeen years)
I haven't felt much like myself
I've been drinking, I've been smoking and living on a shelf
Since the asshole at the station said your case had gone cold
You never left my mind
I've seen your watercolors
Your face is blurred in my mind
If you speak
Pamela, I'll hear
Because nothing comes close to the truth
That I knew as I walked through your house
This silence has taken me everywhere but home