Tomorrow, you’ll leave.
Tomorrow, you’ll leave me
and everything we were.
Your suitcase is next to the door,
tomorrow you’ll walk through it
and leave me behind.
Tomorrow, we’ll say our final goodbye,
and tomorrow will be here.

It kills me knowing I can’t change you.
You won’t go back to the person
you use to be.
You won’t let me in your heart anymore.
Your blue eyes are now as black
as a black hole.
Your eyes get rid of everything in your way
and you went and vacuumed the love from what we were.
You’re empty now and I don’t see you anymore.

The person I use to see
was so full of life
and so willing to let me be a part of it
so much that he went and told me that he loved me.
You use to force me to get out of bed.
It’s ten-thirty but my eyes still wanted to be shut
but at the same time, I was thankful because
I was spending all my time with you.
Whenever we’d talk at night about our dreams,
I’d listen to yours and you’d listen to mine.
Now, you just turn around and snore instead.

You use to let me in.
You use to let me into your heart,
you’d hold the lock and I’d turn the key.
You would talk to me about everything,
we’d used to be broken open with each other.
All of our pieces that made us up
were slowly breaking and you’d listen to me
when I would break down in your arms
and you dried my eyes.
Now I can’t turn the lock anymore
because you switched the lock
and I don’t have the right key anymore.

Your hands have become thorns
when they use to be like sheets,
covering every wound and scar on me.
Your hands were like sweet kisses on my skin,
and in your arms,
I could have died and be reborn again.
Now your hands make a new scar
and all the ones you healed have been reopen,
all my scars are open to you.
I’m so afraid to touch you and of you touching me.

Your voice use to be my favorite song.
I love you
was my favorite song.
And whenever you sang,
I’d sing along.
John Mayer needed vocal lessons
compared to you.
But you forgot my favorite song.
You don’t sing anymore
and when you do,
you sing a song
I don’t know the words to.

But tomorrow you’ll leave.
Your suitcase is next to the door
and tomorrow you’ll walk through it.
Tomorrow, I’ll conjure up the thought of you gone.
But I know that I’ll do it wrong.
It still makes no difference
because tomorrow
you’ll be gone.