The Third Person

[Verse 1]
The dust on the Baldwin settles grey on my gold thread.
He moves his keys from the bowl by the door, 11:18 on a Wednesday.
She's tracing a water-ring on the wood, a perfect faded moon,
They're breathing two different kinds of air in one small room.

[Chorus]
I carry the words that get caught in their throats,
A heavy, silent opera of unsent notes.
I hear the fraying of a promise they both hold,
A story told in static, colder than the cold.

[Verse 2]
She bought a new potholder last week, bright yellow.
Thinks it could fix this. What a lovely, hopeless fellow.
He says, "'I think it's gonna rain,'" just to make a sound,
While the radiator hisses like a secret underground.

[Chorus]
I carry the words that get caught in their throats,
A heavy, silent opera of unsent notes.
I hear the fraying of a promise they both hold,
A story told in static, colder than the cold.

[Bridge]
My father's father wove me under a kinder sun.
I learned the pattern for a love that's come undone.
He taught my threads the weight of what is meant to last.
These children think their quiet grief is moving fast.

[Outro]
(Music strips to only voice and a single dusty piano)
The front door clicks. A single warp of streetlight on the floor.
And I just lie here, same as I have done before.