The Lonesome Instruments

I kept the receipt

from the hardware store

For the lock I never put on the door

Just a heavy brass weight in a paper sack

Proving sometimes you pay not to look back

Now the floorboards argue with every step

Keeping track of the secrets we never kept (hmmmm)

And the light in the hallway is flickering low Like an old

conversation that refuses to go But we sit in the kitchen and

watch it go gray

Trading the things that we never could say

There is oil on my hands from a rusted gear

I have spent forty days on a single year

And the irony sits

like a heavy coat

Too warm for the room but it keeps me afloat

It all comes back at once! (ahhhh)

Just a lock in a paper sack...