Every Day When I Come Home I Expect to Find You Gone - Jim Bob

Every day when I come home

I expect to find you gone

A folded message by the phone

The television left switched on

With every single channel showing

Slow-mo pictures of you going

My legs would give way under me

In front of our old red settee

Your folded note unfolding me

I’d hit my head on the TV

Where every channel kept repeating

Slow-mo pictures of you leaving

I’ve got a little something for ya

P-P-P-Paranoia

Like a poor man’s Howard Hughes

I’d stop wearing socks and shoes

Only touch things with tissues

Looking for you on the news

In every piece of war reporting

Through the door I’d see you walking

I’d become preoccupied

With people I don’t know who’ve died

Like one of those unusuals

Who go to strangers' funerals

In every single TV death

I’d see the reason why you left

Oh God, what would I do

My life would fall apart without you

I don’t see what you see

In a stupid loser like me

And every day when I come home

I expect to find you gone

I’ve got a little something for ya

P-P-P-Paranoia