The Acuña Yamaha

[Verse 1]
The tag on my headstock says ninety-five bucks,
Same as the bus fare that ran out his luck.
My strings are still coated in last summer's sweat,
A half-finished love song I cannot forget.
His hands knew the fault lines in my cheap-laminate grain,
He walked out on a Tuesday, just before the August rain.

[Chorus]
I'm the song he forgot on a particleboard wall,
Just a prayer that the dust ain't the last thing to fall.

[Verse 2]
He smelled of the bakery on Calle Hidalgo,
Played corridos for ghosts, soft and low.
He'd press his thumb hard on the G, low and sore,
Said, "Listen, mi'ja, this one's what it's for."
She'd just trace the scorpion etched in my wood,
A promise he made that she misunderstood.

[Chorus]
I'm the chord he let go on a particleboard wall,
Just a promise the dust ain't the last thing to fall.

[Bridge]
The crack in my lacquer's a map of the Rio Grande,
Every cigarette burn is a town in that land.
They say a thing's memory is held in its bones,
I'm just six quiet wires and twelve rusty tones.

[Chorus]
I'm the fist he held back on a particleboard wall,
And I swear that this dust ain't the last thing to fall.

[Outro]
The little bell rings on the pawnshop door,
But it's never the sound I've been waiting for.