The Grate - Rose Cousins

The low moan of your voice on the phone

Comes through the floor from below

I’m listening in when you think you’re alone

Alone

I press my ear to the grate

Who keeps you up so late

Well you won’t hear me complain

Cause years turn my bones to dust

You change and I adjust

Adjust

I shift my weight to the side

Futile, my tears to your pride

We leave on the bathroom light