I found your notebooks in a wallpapered box
Words handwritten, hidden so long
Words I carried to your hospital bed
Words so full of life, I thought they'd chase away death
And when I read to you it was me who needed something to cling to
It's hard to cross your name out without crossing my own through
So leave me something here to hold
I closed my eyes and woke up old
We can never go home
Without your voice, without your hope
I turn the pages that you wrote
We can never go home
I spend the winter in your flat by the sea
Asking how much of you I carry in me
Find your possessions in the absence that makes them
Somehow worthless, somehow sacred
And when I read to you it was me who needed something to cling to
It hurts to cross your name out without crossing my own through
So leave me something here to hold
I closed my eyes and woke up old
We can never go home
Without your love, without your hope
I turn the pages that you wrote
You can never come home