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The tea has gone cold in the ceramic cup

I’ve stopped trying to pick the conversation up

My throat is a desert of things I won't say

I’m watching the light pull its fingers away

From the cracks in the floor and the dust on the shelf

I’m finally keeping my breath to myself

You’re pacing the hallway, waiting for fire

For a spark or a snap or a tension-wire

But the wood is too damp and the matches are spent

I don’t remember where all the feeling went

It didn’t go out with a bang or a bruise

Just a slow, steady leak in the soul of my shoes

And I’m trading the heat for the heavy shade

Counting the holes that the talking made

There’s a strange kind of grace in the middle of done

When you’re too tired to fight and too hollow to run

It isn’t a wall, it’s a clearing I’ve found

Where the air doesn’t shake when you’re walking around

We’ve hollowed the house with the "why" and the "how"

But the silence is better than anything now

It’s a thick, woolen blanket, a shield for the chest

I’m putting the ghosts of our ghosting to rest

I’m not holding a grudge, I’m just holding my peace

Waiting for all of the friction to cease

[Chorus]And I’m trading the heat for the heavy shade

Counting the holes that the talking made

There’s a strange kind of grace in the middle of done

When you’re too tired to fight and too hollow to run

It isn’t a wall, it’s a clearing I’ve found

Where the air doesn’t shake when you’re walking aroundThe kettle is quiet

The shadows are long

I’ve lost the desire to prove you were wrong

Just the sound of the clock

And the latch on the door

I don’t have to speak anymore

No, I don’t have to speak anymore