Final Color

[Verse 1]
The Shasta Cola can sweats on the porch rail.
May seventeenth, nineteen eighty, a perfect pastel.
You're pointing at St. Helens, a shape against the blue,
A postcard in the kitchen we never looked through.
We're threading stale popcorn on a single frayed twine,
Building a worthless treasure, and it feels like mine.

[Chorus]
And the dust in the sunbeam does a slow, sweet dance.
We get one more spin, we get one last chance.

[Verse 2]
The hum of the GE fridge is the only bass line.
Your mom's humming Fleetwood Mac, "Don't Stop," for the tenth time.
She's patching the knee on my Toughskins, a faded iron-on.
You said, "Bet I can hold my breath 'til the streetlights turn on."
A dare in the air before the quiet went wrong,
The needle just lifting at the end of the song.

[Chorus]
And the dust in the sunbeam does a slow, sweet dance.
We get one more spin, we get one last chance.

[Bridge]
And from here, I can see it, the whole fragile design.
A photograph developing over a deep fault line.
We didn't know we were breathing the last of the clean air in,
Just the scent of cut grass and the taste of the tin.

[Outro]
The final color.
Before the grey.