My microphone sits, silent
I’ll break if I try to speak
Thoughts of Christsmases wound me
My control of my feelings is weak.

It’s been 30 years, more than,
I still want it not to be real
No matter the years that are passing
This is one hurt that just will not heal

So many stories that I want to tell
To keep your memory afloat
So many words that yearn to break free
Can’t escape from my paralysed throat

So I cuddle thoughts of you to me
I’ve a sweater of yours I still wear
When I need to feel you close by me
And I can pretend that you’re there