more lyrics:

Garage Sale, Saturday: I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills.
A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch, some plastic daffodils,
the cutlery and coffee cups I stole from all-night restaurants,
a sense of wonder (only slightly used), a year or two to haunt you in the dark,
---for a phone call from far away, with a "Hi, how are you today",
and a sign recovery comes to the broken ones...
A wage-slave forty-hour work week (weighs a thousand kilograms, so bend you knees)
comes with a free fake smile for all your dumb demands,
the cordless razor that my father bought when I turned 17,
a puke-green sofa, and the outline to a complicated dream of dignity,
---For a laugh (too loud and too long),
for a place where awkward belongs,
and a sign that recovery comes to broken ones.

Or best offer.


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I count to three and grin. You smile and let me in. We sit and watch the wall you painted purple. Speech will spill on space. Our little cups of grace. But pauses rattle on,
about the way that you cut the snow-fence, braved the blood, the metal of those hearts that you always end up pressing your tongue to. How your body still remembers things you told it to forget. How those furious affections followed you.
I've got this store-bought way
of saying I'm okay,
and you learned how to cry
in total silence.
We're talented and bright. We're lonely and uptight.
We've found some lovely ways to disappoint,
but the airport's almost empty this time of the year, so let's go play on a baggage carousel.
Set our watches forward like we're just arriving here,
from a past we left in a place we knew too well.
(Hold on to the corners of today, and we'll fold it up to save until it's needed. Stand still. Let me scrub that brackish line that you got when something rose and then receded.)

all lyrics by the weakerthans