I built a room where I'd finally rest
Good light, no clock, nothing left on the desk
Painted it slow, put a chair by the glass
Then I stood in the doorway and let the year pass
Funny how the finished thing looks like a stranger
Funny how the quiet can feel like a danger
I keep one hand on the frame of the door
Like I'm scared that sitting down means I don't want more

It's not that I can't stop
It's that stopping was never the prize

I'm never done
And it took me so long to hear it kind
I'm never done
And that's not a sentence, that's a life
I thought the end was the gift
Turns out the gift is the going
I'm never done
And I'm done pretending that's a wound
(No)

Told my father I'd made it, he asked me made what
He said son I've been making since nineteen sixty-one
Every roof that I finished just showed me a sky
Every goodbye taught me how to say hi
So I opened the room and I let the wind through
Left the chair for whoever comes after I do
And the light in there still falls the same
Even when nobody's sitting in it

I keep a list of things I'll do when I'm finished
It's been the same list for eleven years
I've stopped adding to it
I've started doing it

I'm never done
And it took me so long to hear it kind
I'm never done
And that's not a sentence, that's a life
I thought the end was the gift
Turns out the gift is the going
I'm never done
And I'm done pretending that's a wound