Killing You Twice

[Verse 1]
The bolt of Dutch wax at the back of the shop
still holds the shape of your hands from October.
I trace the pattern, wait for the drop
of Moss Side rain that says the day is over.
This city taught me how to wear grey,
but your memory is a riot of colour I can’t fold away.

[Chorus]
And if I let another name rest on my mouth,
if I unstitch your thread from this house,
does forgetting your face mean I'm killing you twice?

[Verse 2]
There’s a new man, he smells of cinnamon and woodsmoke,
not the damp red brick and engine oil I knew.
His touch on my arm is a snag in the yolk
of the life I was weaving, the one meant for you.
His hands are steady, but they don't know the weight
of my father’s silence at the old garden gate.

[Spoken Word Interlude]
(Voicemail recording, low-fi, distant traffic)
"...just ringing you back. It's started spitting again, proper Manchester. Anyway, I'm at the station. See you in a bit, love..."

[Chorus]
And if I let his name rest on my mouth,
if I unstitch your thread from this house,
does forgetting your laugh mean I'm killing you twice?

[Bridge]
"Nne, he is gone," my mother said, her fingers in my hair,
"You can't keep mending ghosts with just prayer."

[Outro]
But tonight I’m just killing you twice.
(A simple, haunting human whistle carries the melody to fade)