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 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 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