this is a song about my grandpa. when i would visit him in LA as a young kid we'd both wake up before sunrise and share in silence together in the living room. i would cuddled up in his lap smell the comfort of him; of instant coffee, grease and everything bagels. he wasn't embarrassed about anything, he let me braid his hair, he taught me how to look for sidewalk sprinklers on the streets of beverlywood and how it was good luck to push them down but to run away before anyone sees you.
i wrote this song while visiting his house two years ago in november, which was almost exactly year after his death day and birthday. i could feel him everywhere. and i got the sense that i was also being felt. i miss him terribly.
lyrics
i can feel you too
from the window in the next room
and i can feel you too,
in the bathtub.
i skip on the sidewalk
until somebody notices
i run fast as i talk
from a warning in winter,
your flesh on the sky
you were soft blood and tender bones
in the sun,
in the sun
you were in the room
in the big black chair
and i braid your hair
puppy at our feet
i'm only six
and you breathe your coffee breath on me
we're both awake at seven
sharing silence before it all begins
sharing silence fore it all goes language
you were in the room,
you were in the room,
you were in the room.
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