Talking to Your Tombstone Songtext
von Greg Barnett

I know my way to your new place from the cemetery gates
Like the back of my hand knows the distance to my heartbreak
I park the car and I greet your new neighbors
I read their epitaphs, I call in favors

I brought some flowers and a six-pack of beer
Hope you don′t mind if I just talk, drink, and sit here
Feels like there's so much that I can tell you
How the world keeps spinnin′ with or without you

Your New York Mets are a tragedy
It was a total shutout at the Subway Series
I watched with mom in the nursing home
Told her I've been sitting here
Talking to your tombstone

Talking to your tombstone
Talking to your tombstone
Talking to your tombstone


Well, I've been looking for a job but they′re hard to find
When you′ve never been the people type
But now I'm desperate and my money′s getting tight
Most nights it gets so damn dark in my mind

But today I went up to the post office in town
Where me and the mailman chatted in fiction
Like, "What would you do with a million dollars?
What car would you drive, where would you live?"

Told him I'd move back to Marine Park, Brooklyn
Buy back that little home that we were raised in
Just to listen to those old walls talk
Of you and wom with heavy New York accents

I try my best to not get sad
Think of all the good times that made us laugh
It′s getting late, I should be getting home
It's been nice sitting here
Talking to your tombstone

Talking to your tombstone
Talking to your tombstone
Talking to your tombstone