Garage Letters

Cardboard boxes stacked up high

Dusty tools and motor oil

Clearing out thirty years of time From this patch of concrete soil

Underneath a broken heavy shelf

I found a rusted iron tin

Inside was a paper yellowed with age And a story

waiting to begin

It said, To

my boy,

if you're reading this now

I didn't always say what I meant

I was proud of the man

you were growing to be

And every single moment we spent (oh-oh)

But the ink faded out on the very next line

Leaving the page mostly bare

He must have put down his heavy old pen When the winter

wind chilled the air

So I held that scrap of paper tight In the quiet of

the afternoon

An unfinished letter from my old man That ended

way too soon

Now I'm sweeping up the sawdust

Hanging his wrenches on the wall (hmmm)

I can hear his gravel voice Echoing down the hall

And I read: To my boy,

if you're reading this now

I didn't always say what I meant

I was proud of the man

you were growing to be

And every single moment we spent

(every single moment)

I don't need the rest of the lines

I know what he wanted to say (hmmm)

I lock the garage doors behind me And walk out into the

day