Thriftstore Reflections

Backlit in the lift,

the fluorescent hum

Thrift-store mirror selfie on my thumb Static in the speaker,

three-chord Muzak drone I'm erasing every word I've grown to own

Making it dull,

keeping it safe (hummmm)

Rewrite the spark until the fire is gone

Elevator riding down to the dawn (yeah)

Closing time, chairs upside down

Rainwater pooling on the streets of town Your jacket smelled of old

thrift-store tweed Now I'm polishing away the things we actually need

Typing, deleting, making it polite (ahhhh)

Rewrite the spark until the

fire is gone

Elevator riding down to the dawn (ooh,

yeah)

Just a dull gray text

In a second-hand frame (mmm)