Unwound

[Verse 1]
Pops, your old Martin’s got dust on the frets
From that Tuesday in March when the count hit ten.
My knuckles are wrong for this delicate work,
Still wired for the canvas, the pressure and torque.
My hands only know how to tape up and break.

[Chorus]
And I'm learning a new kind of quiet, a slow-motion fall,
Just killing the silence here, against the bedroom wall.

[Verse 2]
The calluses here on my fingertips burn,
A different percussion I'm trying to learn.
You always told me, "Girl, feel out the grain."
But this G-chord just sounds like a forecast for rain.

[Chorus]
And I'm learning a new kind of quiet, a slow-motion fall,
Just killing the silence here, against the bedroom wall.

[Bridge]
The bell in my blood finally started to fade,
And one clean C-major is the first thing I've made.

[Outro]
Still feels like I'm fighting, just learning to lose.
This beautiful, useless, six-stringed bruise.