I don’t like writing sad songs. I understand that some folks want to (as someone said to me) “experience the full range of human emotion” but I’ve had all the sadness I’ll ever need, I don’t have to go searching for it.
She found his wallet and his keys . . . On the counter by the door
Folded neatly on the chair . . . She found his coat
Placed precisely in the center of the table
Was the lunch she’d packed for him the night before
But what she never found however hard she looked
She didn’t find the note
They always leave a note, her mother said
It’s like want someone to know
It was a cry for help so you would come and save him
Maybe if you look a little harder, look somewhere
You haven’t thought of yet . . . You know how you can be
The pretty blonde named Audrey in her group
Said he probably just didn’t have the time
As if he were late to get down to the office
And in the rush it simply slipped his mind . . . His mind
Am . . . Em . . . F . . . C . . . F . . . C . . . F . . . G
He could have left it on the table with his lunch
Or maybe in the pocket of his coat
With his wallet on the counter by his keys by the back door
But he couldn’t leave a thing he never wrote
C . . . G . . . Am . . . Em . . . F . . . C . . . F . . . G
His wallet and his keys are in his dresser
In the sock drawer tucked away there in the back
Someone had thrown his lunch into the garbage
But that night she rummaged out the paper sack
It’s neatly folded, hanging in the closet
Slipped inside the pocket of his coat
She still has everything he ever left her
But she doesn’t have the words he never wrote
She doesn’t have the note