He never left

On this, the 32nd anniversary of my father's death, I'm posting the song I wrote for him:

He never left

He's always around, sitting here, just talking
and after a while I realise that he can't be.
When I ask him how it's possible
he laughs like I already know
And I try to forget that I jinxed the moment.

So it's as if he never left
only I get older every time
I see my face in the mirror:
he stays the same.

He never left
no, he never left
so how is it that he's gone?

Was a thousand miles away when it happened.
I remember the telephone ringing in a dream.
I remember pinching myself in the darkness
and my mother's cracking voice.
Now I'm only awake when I'm dreaming.

He's in the hallway closet now
under sweaters in a wooden box
with the date he started living in my dreams.

He never left
no, he never left
so how is it that he's gone?

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