I am six years old, in the back of my mother's car,
and I will be seven in December.
She will be gone by the beginning of next Spring,
and I will be left to remember, to remember.

I ask my little questions, she laughs her little laugh,
'cause she won't tell me where we're going.
She looks at my eyes with her eyes in the mirror, and says
"Some things you're better off not knowin', not knowin'."

Well I don't know what her voice sounds like,
I don't know what her skin feels like,
I only know what it might feel like
when a mother holds her daughter
when that mother knows she's leaving this life.

She's left with that reflection of me at six years old,
and I have her eyes in the mirror.
Well she and I, we are defined by what we have lost.
Don't you wonder whose loss is dearer, dearer?

She doesn't know what my voice sounds like,
she doesn't know what my skin feels like,
and I only know what it might feel like
when a mother holds her daughter
when that mother knows she's leaving this life, leaving this life.

I don't know what her voice sounds like,
And I don't know what her skin feels like.
I only know what it might feel like
when a mother holds her daughter
when that mother knows she's leaving this life, leaving this life.
Leaving this life, leaving this life, leaving this life.

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