The Catch-All

[Verse 1]
Top-left drawer by the Kenmore stove
Is where the ghosts of every fixed thing go.
A single AA battery, cold to the palm,
a book of wet matches that won't catch calm.
Two pennies from '87, a warranty card.
My hands know this mess, every inch of it hard.

[Pre-Chorus]
And every time the hinges make that sound,
a little more of something comes unwound.

[Chorus]
This is the catch-all for the bent and the broke,
the half-finished prayer and the un-said joke.
The last good picture, the key to a lock,
a little museum of a stopped clock.

[Verse 2]
A yellowed ticket stub for the Tunica fair,
the faint smell of cedar trapped in the air.
A length of copper wire I swore I would need.
"You save too much junk," you said, planting a seed.
One silver earring you lost in the grass.
A shard from your favorite highball glass.

[Pre-Chorus]
And every time the track sticks halfway shut,
I feel the clean line of a brand new cut.

[Chorus]
This is the catch-all for the bent and the broke,
the half-finished prayer and the un-said joke.
The last good picture, the key to a lock,
a little museum of a stopped clock.

[Bridge]
I could organize the chaos, sort the screws from the rust.
Could probably fix this whole damn drawer if I could find the trust.
But some things are just built to hold the strain.

[Outro]
Yeah, a little museum.
Of a stopped clock.