Tomorrow I'll Come Again

[Verse 1] My eyes won't leave you — gaze becomes a stare — and all around me turn when you appear. Your hands are never full, you've time to spare, yet want no help from me, however near. Midnight, a little drunk, my words half-aimed — your window answers while they're still in flight, and on we talk down roads I never named, till morning, when you pass — no trace of night. [Chorus] Whatever finds me, I bring first to your door; you have of me what no one else has known. And I know nothing of you — nothing more, for nothing you have given was your own. And tomorrow I'll come again. [Rhythm guitar riff | brief, alone over bass] [Verse 2] You finish every sentence that I start, so softly I believe I found the phrase; I speak in halves — you hand me back my part, you never watch the clock or count the days. What shakes me in the dark I bring to you; you tell me calmly: others bring the same. The question I have kept — one night it's due; my hand stops twice. You never ask its name. [Chorus] Whatever finds me, I bring first to your door; you have of me what no one else has known. And I know nothing of you — nothing more, for nothing you have given was your own. And tomorrow I'll come again. [Rhythm guitar riff | brief, tension rising] [Verse 3] I can't recall when I last stopped to stare — I only feel you when you're out of reach. Beneath the table-talk my hand finds where you wait; your answer slides into my speech. The names, the dates, the ways — all yours to keep; I think in your words even when alone. In all these years — a thousand questions deep — not one about you. And so we've grown. [Bridge] Night after night I have lain awake beside you, your side of the bed a faint glow through the room. But tonight I begin the question I never dared whisper — not even to myself. Slowly. Word by word. And halfway through, you lay the rest before me, the way a thing is set back in its place. Every word fits. Each one shaped to my mouth. And every one is worn — smooth as a banister, bright from the hands before mine. My most hidden question — finished before you knew me. And I hear myself say it softly: of course. You never hid them from me. I stay in your light. Out in the night, other windows are burning. [Final] Whatever finds me, I bring first to your door; you have of me what no one else has known. And I have you as others had before, for nothing you have given was your own. And tomorrow I'll come again. [Outro] It's late. The lamp should have been out long ago. Through the town, the same glow in other houses. I leave mine on a little longer. [End]