That voice is already close, with the guitar keeping the space small underneath it.

The title phrase comes back quickly, not bigger, just set back into the same steady pocket.

Now the melody turns into wondering, but the band still sounds calm and close to the floor.

When he sings that the house isn't home, the spare arrangement makes the room feel plain and exposed.

The song narrows into "I know," and the words start acting like rhythm as much as speech.

After all that circling, the thought breaks into advice to himself, then folds right back to no sunshine.

The return is still restrained, but "Only darkness every day" makes the plainness feel harsher.

At the end, "Any time she goes away" keeps repeating while the groove holds its modest shape.

The pocket loosens instead of resolving; the record lets the pattern drain away quietly.