Пустое Место Напротив

I set the table out of habit, I suppose. Two forks, two spoons, a single winter rose. The turkey's dry, the wine is breathing on the Shelf. I'm raising glasses to the shadow of Myself. The clock is ticking loud enough to break the Bone. It's funny how a house can feel so Much like stone. And the chair across from me is just a Wooden frame. I swear the fire crackles out your middle name. Hallelujah to the silence and the snow. I'm holding on to things I should have let Go. Merry Christmas to the Ghost inside the hall. Merry Christmas, no one's answering the call. I turn the TV down to hear the wind Outside. There is no place left in this living room To hide. I found the gift I bought you hidden in The drawer. I don't remember what I bought it for anymore. Just a box wrapped up in silver and in Red, like all the words that we have never Said. And the chair across from me is just a Wooden frame. I swear the fire crackles out your middle name. Hallelujah to the silence and the snow. I'm holding on to things I should have let Go. Merry Christmas to the ghost inside the hall. Merry Christmas, no one's answering the call. It's Just a chair. Just air.