I Buried The Hope of You and I (The Day You Died)

{gently fingerpicked clean electric guitar,

warm piano, soft swelling cello} There she stood

talking 'bout the good times,

how you taught her to drive,

how you watched her grow.

Those were never my memories

— just stories of a man I

never got to know.

The day you died,

I didn't just bury you

— I buried the hope of who you'd be,

all the years of almost,

all the used-to-believe, a father I was never gonna meet.

The day you died,

I buried the hope of you and I.

{full band entrance}

I'd watch out

through the curtain, down that empty road,

every headlight that came

turned out to be somebody else going home.

Sometimes late, sometimes never,

just a horn out at the end of the drive

— you never came to the door,

you let me come to you.

The day you died,

I didn't just bury you —

I buried the hope of who you'd be,

all the years of almost,

all the used-to-believe, a father I was never gonna meet.

The day you died,

I buried the hope of you and I.

Now I leave them all before they can leave me.

But somebody's still got time

to close a distance while it's small,

before the years stack up

and the gap turns you to strangers.

You can't build on what's broken and expect it to stand.

The day you died,

I didn't just bury you

— I buried the hope of who you'd be,

all the years of almost,

all the used-to-believe, a father I was never gonna meet.

The day you died,

I buried the hope of you and I.

{peak dynamic}

There she stood talking 'bout the good times.

I let her have them.

I let her have them

all. (all)

{single guitar chord ringing out,

unresolved}