Beth:
You learn to take your coffee black
You learn to drink your whiskey neat
You learn to take the shower cold
And sleep on tired feet

You learn to order dinner in
You learn to send the laundry out
You learn how to amuse yourself
You learn to live without

You tell yourself you're rich at last,
In money, and in time
You draw bath and then unplug the phone
You pour yourself a pinot, Clos Du Val, two thousand three
You sit a spell, a queen upon her throne
You go to bed alone

Liz:
You learn to fall asleep alone
You learn to silence ticking clocks
You learn to pull the shades at night
And double-check the locks

You learn to speak so calmly when
Your heart would like to scream and shout
You learn to stop, and breathe, and smile
You learn to live without

You find the coat and tie you thought you'd given to Goodwill
You toss his fav’rite shoes onto the pile
You see him in the faces of the boys he left behind
And die a bit with ev’ry tiny smile
But only for a while

Elizabeth:
You learn to count the quiet wins
An hour with no unprompted tears
And not to count the deadly days
As they fade into years

You learn to stand alone at last
So brave, and bold, and strong, and stout
You learn somehow to like the dark
And even love the doubt
You learn to hold your life inside you
And never let it out
You learn to live and die
And then to live
You learn to live without
You learn to live without
You learn to live without