My grandmother sent me
A half-finished letter,
A baby-blue sweater,
And a chamomile dress;

And it'll get worse
Before it gets better,
But it'll get better
Nevertheless.


My grandmother sent me
A candle to mourn me,
And a candle to hope
for the future to come;

And maybe I've lost me
One Saturday morning,
But, really, I'm glad for
the me that I've found.