The One Little Word

You know I will stay

if you asked me to.

You know I will fly miles away,

further than I thought

I could go.

Just give me the sign,

hit me with a line

that says it all,

or one of all.

Cause you know,

I will wait

till I cannot wait,

till the walls are built,

and I remove the belt,

till I can’t stay.

Don’t ask me to stay.

Don’t even say

that word that ruins

all I’ve been working for.

The let-go part,

the hardest part,

of grieving you.

Cause you know, it’s you.

And what does it mean

for me to be you?

History set in stone,

standing, unmoved,

cannot be removed,

cannot be broke.

But it’s breaking me.

It’s paining me though,

and holding me back.

Like a seed

that cannot grow,

looking to bloom,

but the ground gives no water.

So it stays,

not dead,

just dying even more.

So don’t ask me to stay,

even if that’s all

what I’m wishing for.

Don’t ask me to stay.

Don’t even say

that one little word,

that says it all,

that says stay.