Lost 1950s Jazz… | Purple Love | Vintage Jazz Vinyl | Evelyn Hart.

追加: 2026-05-15

[00:00:14]The fingerprint on the piano lid is right above the Keep a little smudge of oil from the last time you touched me.

[00:00:43]You leaned across to close the fall board after your last song.

[00:00:57]The fingerprint on the piano lid and the all along.

[00:01:11]The bass holds a note like a helen cord.

[00:01:15]The guitar swells like a keyboard lord.

[00:01:19]The upright plays a chord that sounds like polish.

[00:01:26]And the brush drum taps a little flourish.

[00:01:34]I trace the hole with my fingertip.

[00:01:42]The crackle on the record is the fingertip slip. Oh, the fingerprint on the piano lid is a signature of loss.

[00:01:57]A little loop and arch that doesn't show up in the gloss.

[00:02:04]I could wipe it clean with a soft cloth and a little bit of spray.

[00:02:12]A fingerprint on the piano lid and the went away.

[00:02:22]So let the smudge stay on the lacquer like a fossil of your hand.

[00:02:31]The fingerprint on the piano lid and the no man's land.

[00:02:45]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like play it.

[00:02:53]The base slides low to the stay it.

[00:03:00]I lift the lid and press a key instead.

[00:03:09]The fingerprint on the piano lid and the words unsaid.

[00:03:20]The needle lifts, the piano is closed, the fingerprint waits.

[00:03:32]Like a ghost that knows.

[00:03:54]The hair pin on the nightstand is bent out of shape.

[00:04:02]A little silver curve that was part of your escape.

[00:04:08]You pulled it from your hair before you kissed me good night.

[00:04:15]The hair pin on the nightstand in the morning light.

[00:04:28]The bass walks slow like a whisper in the dark.

[00:04:36]The guitar swells with a tiny little spark.

[00:04:42]The upright plays a chord that sounds like stay here.

[00:04:48]And the brush drum taps very near.

[00:04:56]I pick up the hair pin and twist it in my hand.

[00:05:02]The crackle on the record is the thing I understand.

[00:05:08]Oh, the hair pin on the nightstand holds a curl of hair.

[00:05:16]The ghost of a strand of hair that was once so fair.

[00:05:22]You left it on the maple wood the morning that you ran the hair pin on the nightstand and the end of a plan.

[00:05:36]So let the silver tarnish and the spring go slack. The hair pin on the nightstand and the love I can't get back.

[00:06:10]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like tangled.

[00:06:17]The base slides low, a little mangled.

[00:06:24]I put the hair pin in a velvet box.

[00:06:31]The hair pin on the nightstand and the tangled locks.

[00:06:42]The needle lifts.

[00:06:45]The nightstand is bare.

[00:06:50]The hair pin waits.

[00:06:55]In the velvet square in the dryer Green is blue and gray and white.

[00:07:29]A little fuzzy blanket from the laundry of the night.

[00:07:36]Your sweater was the blue one.

[00:07:40]My shirt was the white.

[00:07:44]The lint in the dryer screen and the hold on tight.

[00:07:54]The bass walks low like a tumble dry.

[00:07:58]The guitar swells like a Y. Oh Y. The upright plays a chord that sounds like fabric.

[00:08:08]And the brush drum taps a little fabric.

[00:08:16]I pull the lint and roll it in a ball.

[00:08:20]The crackle on the record is the gave my all.

[00:08:25]Oh, the lint in the dryer screen is the laundry of our love.

[00:08:32]The fibers from your sweater and the threads from the glove you wore the winter that you left. The one with the broken thumb.

[00:08:47]the lint in the dryer screen and the deaf and dumb.

[00:08:53]So let the fuzz ball grow with every load I drive.

[00:09:01]The lint in the dryer screen and the wave goodbye.

[00:09:24]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like tumble. The base slides low to the humble. I throw the land away and close the door. The lint in the dryer screen and the never more.

[00:09:44]The needle lifts, the dryer is clean, but the ghost of the lint in the in between.

[00:10:13]M the pin in the world map is stuck in Paris, France.

[00:10:27]A little red dot on the ironisment of chance.

[00:10:33]You put it there. The winter that we saved up all our bread.

[00:10:40]The pin in the world map and the go ahead.

[00:10:47]The base walks low like a train to Cali.

[00:10:54]The guitar swells like a holiday.

[00:11:00]The upright plays a chord that sounds like travel.

[00:11:07]And the brush drum taps a little gravel.

[00:11:13]I trace the root with my finger on the paper.

[00:11:20]The crackle on the record is the later.

[00:11:25]See you later.

[00:11:27]Oh, the pin in the world map is a promise on the wall.

[00:11:35]A little red reminder of the trip that never saw. The Eiffel Tower, the sane, the bread, the wine, the cheese, the pin in the world map, and the bend the knees.

[00:11:54]So let the paper yellow and the pins start to rust.

[00:12:02]the pin in the world map and the learn to trust.

[00:12:22]The archtop strums a chord that sounds like fly air.

[00:12:30]The base slides low to the wire there.

[00:12:37]I pulled a pin and put it in a drawer.

[00:12:44]The pin in the world map and the ever more.

[00:12:50]The needle lifts.

[00:12:53]The map has a hole where the pin went in like a little soul.

[00:13:27]The rubber band around the door knob is brittle and it's dry.

[00:13:40]A little loop of latex that's been waiting for the why.

[00:13:52]You put it there to remind yourself to take the trash at night.

[00:14:06]The rubber band around the door knob and the lost the fight.

[00:14:19]The bass walks slow like a little snap.

[00:14:26]The guitar swells like a maybe nap.

[00:14:32]The upright plays a chord that sounds like stretchy.

[00:14:38]And the brush drum taps a little sketchy.

[00:14:44]I twist the band and feel it start to crack.

[00:14:50]The crackle on the record is the never back.

[00:14:56]Oh, the rubber band around the door knob is a fossil of a chore.

[00:15:04]A little piece of office supply that doesn't matter anymore.

[00:15:11]You don't need to take the trash out cuz you're not here at all.

[00:15:17]The rubber band around the door knob and the waiting call.

[00:15:25]All let the latex crumble and the loop fall to the floor.

[00:15:34]The rubber band around the door knob and the never the arch top strums a chord that sounds like snap it.

[00:15:54]The base slides low to the lapet.

[00:15:59]I take the band and throw it in the bin.

[00:16:07]The rubber band around the door knob and the begin again.

[00:16:15]The needle lifts.

[00:16:18]The knob is bare.

[00:16:22]The rubber band is gone like a little prayer.

[00:16:44]The smell of your shampoo on the towel is almost gone.

[00:16:53]A ghost of jasmine and of something else that lingers on.

[00:17:00]I've washed it seven times since you left, but still I find a trace the smell of your shampoo on the towel.

[00:17:14]In the empty space, the bass holds a note like a held in breath. The guitar swells like a little death. The upright plays a chord that sounds like jasmine.

[00:17:33]And the brush drum taps a little chasm.

[00:17:37]I press the towel to my face and close my eyes.

[00:17:44]The crackle on the record is the truth and lies.

[00:17:50]Oh, the smell of your shampoo on the towel is a perfume of the past.

[00:17:59]A little lingering reminder that nothing's built to last.

[00:18:06]The jasmine fades. The bergammont gives way to cotton plain.

[00:18:13]The smell of your shampoo on the towel and the coming rain.

[00:18:23]So let the scent dissolve into the fabric of the air.

[00:18:32]the smell of your shampoo on the towel and I didn't dare.

[00:18:50]The arch top strums a cord that sounds like wash it.

[00:18:57]The base slides low to the lost it.

[00:19:04]I wash the towel one more time today.

[00:19:11]The smell of your shampoo and the gone away.

[00:19:20]The needle lifts. The tow is clean. The smell is gone in the in between.

[00:19:42]The sticker on the bed post is a little faded star.

[00:19:49]A silver thing that's peeling from the days of where you are.

[00:19:56]You put it there the night we stayed up talking till the dawn.

[00:20:03]The sticker on the bed post and the carry on.

[00:20:12]The bass walks slow like a lullaby.

[00:20:19]The guitar swells like a Yo y.

[00:20:25]The upright plays a chord that sounds like glitter.

[00:20:33]And the brushed drum taps a little bit.

[00:20:40]I touch the star with my fingertip.

[00:20:47]The crackle on the record is the slow slip. Oh, the sticker on the bed post is a marker of the night.

[00:21:01]When we were young and stupid and we thought we'd get it right.

[00:21:08]A silver star for second base, a gold one for the kiss, the sticker on the bed post, and the all of this.

[00:21:22]So, let the paper curl and the silver fade to gray.

[00:21:29]the sticker on the bed post and the went away.

[00:21:42]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like peel it.

[00:21:49]The base slides low to the feel it.

[00:21:56]I leave the star where it's always been, the sticker on the bed post, and the begin again.

[00:22:12]The needle lifts, the bed post stands, the star still clings with trembling hands.

[00:22:45]The tilt in the bookshelf started the day you took your book.

[00:22:53]The one with the blue cover and the little crooked hook.

[00:23:00]You pulled it from the middle shelf and never put it back.

[00:23:07]The tilt in the bookshelf and the off the track.

[00:23:20]The bass walks slow like a leaning tower.

[00:23:26]The guitar swells like a sour.

[00:23:33]The upright plays a chord that sounds like lopsided and the brush drum taps a little misguided.

[00:23:47]I push the books from the other side to straighten it.

[00:23:55]The crackle on the record is the broken bit.

[00:24:04]Oh, the tilt in the bookshelf is a metaphor for us.

[00:24:11]A little lean to the left that has gathered all the dust.

[00:24:18]The weight of all the other books can't hold it in its place.

[00:24:25]The tilt in the bookshelf and the losing race.

[00:24:35]So let the shelf stay crooked and the volumes lean and slide.

[00:24:42]The tilt in the bookshelf and the could have tried.

[00:24:53]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like level it.

[00:25:00]The base slides low to the devil it. I put a shim under the leg to make it straight.

[00:25:14]The tilt in the bookshelf and the hand of fate.

[00:25:24]The needle lifts the shelf is true.

[00:25:30]But the tilt is there in the what you knew.

[00:26:04]The velvet booth for two is empty now.

[00:26:12]I sit on your side and wonder how we filled this space with laughter and with lies.

[00:26:25]The velvet's warm where you used to rest your thighs.

[00:26:34]The base walks slow to the corner by the wall.

[00:26:42]The guitar swells like a distant call.

[00:26:48]The upright plays a chord that sounds like remember and the brush drum taps.

[00:26:58]The slow November I trace your name on the sticky table top.

[00:27:08]The crackle on the record is too tire.

[00:27:16]Oh, the velvet booth for two only holds me now.

[00:27:26]The seat across is empty, but I don't know how to stop my hand from reaching for the space where your elbow used to rest with easy grace.

[00:27:53]So let the velvet hold the shape of what we were.

[00:28:01]The booth for two and a ghost who prefers to defer.

[00:28:14]The archtop strums a chord that sounds like come back.

[00:28:22]The base slides low on a familiar track.

[00:28:28]I slide across to sit where you used to be.

[00:28:35]The velvet booth for two.

[00:28:41]But you're not here with me.

[00:28:50]The needle lifts.

[00:28:54]I leave a tip for the ghost.

[00:29:00]The velvet booth in the seat I miss the most.

[00:29:29]The worn spot on the armrest is the shape of your left elbow.

[00:29:41]A little dip in the appy where the fabric's thread bare and slow.

[00:29:53]You'd lean your weight on it for hours, watching the TV glow, the warm spot on the armrest.

[00:30:12]And long ago, the base walks low like a sinking seat.

[00:30:27]The guitar swells like a bittersweet.

[00:30:34]The upright plays a chord that sounds like armrest.

[00:30:40]And the brush drum taps a little warm rest.

[00:30:47]I put my own elbow in the same worn spot.

[00:30:55]The crackle on the record is the forgot me not though. The worn spot on the armrest is a mold of where you were.

[00:31:16]The way you'd sit with one leg tucked.

[00:31:22]The way you softly stir your coffee cup on the table, your book face down, bent, the worn spot on the armrest and the where it went.

[00:31:48]So let the fabric thin and the foam compress with time.

[00:31:57]The warm spot on the armrest and the nursery rhyme.

[00:32:10]The arch top strums a cord that sounds like recover.

[00:32:19]The base lies low to the over.

[00:32:24]I cover the armrest with a little throw.

[00:32:32]The worn spot on the armrest and the letting go.

[00:32:43]The needle lifts. The throw is in place, but I know the spot like I know my face.

[00:33:20]The apron you never wore is hanging on the hook.

[00:33:34]I bought it for your birthday.

[00:33:41]from a little vintage book.

[00:33:48]The fabric is a pattern of cherries and cream.

[00:34:01]The apron you never wore.

[00:34:09]The unraveled seam walks slow to the kitchen where you'd stand.

[00:34:22]The guitar swells like a touch from your hand.

[00:34:29]The upright plays a chord that sounds like almost.

[00:34:36]And the brush drum taps a golden ghost. I take the apron down and hold it to my chest.

[00:34:52]The crackle on the record sounds like a word, unexpressed.

[00:35:03]Oh, the apron you never wore still smells like the store.

[00:35:11]The day I picked it out, I couldn't ask for more. I imagined you stirring soup with a little smile, but you left before the winter and the apron stayed.

[00:35:30]Meanwhile, so let the cherries fade and the cream turned gray.

[00:35:40]The apron you never wore for the one who went away.

[00:35:54]The arch top strums a cord that sounds like forgive.

[00:36:01]The base slides low so the heart can live. Fivefold the apron into a square of grace.

[00:36:15]The apron you never wore.

[00:36:20]And the empty space.

[00:36:24]The needle lifts.

[00:36:28]The apron goes in the drawer next to the napkin.

[00:36:36]And the love that came before.

[00:37:07]A bookmark at page 47 is a faded receipt from a bookstore in the village that no longer has a street.

[00:37:21]You doggy the corner, but I smoothed it back again.

[00:37:28]the bookmark at page 47 where the story ran.

[00:37:42]The base walks low like a line of pros.

[00:37:49]The guitar swells where the paragraph closes.

[00:37:57]The upright plays a chord that sounds like chapter and the brush drum taps a gentle laughter.

[00:38:10]I open the book to the same yellow page.

[00:38:18]The crackle on the record is the writer's rage.

[00:38:25]No, the bookmark at page 47 is stuck in the spine.

[00:38:33]The protagonist is frozen on a broken line.

[00:38:40]He never gets to tell her what he found in the snow.

[00:38:48]The bookmark at page 47.

[00:38:53]And the love that had to go.

[00:38:57]So let the receipt fade too.

[00:39:02]An invisible stain.

[00:39:06]The bookmark at page 47.

[00:39:11]And the lost refrain.

[00:39:17]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like finish.

[00:39:24]The base slides low to the truth that diminishes.

[00:39:30]I close the book and put it on the stack.

[00:39:39]The bookmark at page 47.

[00:39:44]And the love I can't get back.

[00:39:50]The needle lifts. The book stays shut.

[00:39:56]The receipt is still there in the dusty road.

[00:40:21]The bump in the carpet is right by the bedroom door.

[00:40:35]A little rise in the floorboards that wasn't there before.

[00:40:49]I think you dropped something heavy the night you packed in haste.

[00:41:04]The bump in the carpet and the wasted taste.

[00:41:18]The bass walks low like a floorboard creek.

[00:41:26]The guitar swells like a word I'll speak.

[00:41:32]The upright plays a chord that sounds like under.

[00:41:39]And the brush drum taps a little thunder.

[00:41:47]I press my foot on the bump and feel it give.

[00:41:54]The crackle on the record is the way to live. Oh, the bump in the carpet is a secret from the past.

[00:42:09]A little hidden something that was never meant to last.

[00:42:16]I could lift the rug and see what's underneath the pile, the bump in the carpet, and a losing smile.

[00:42:31]So let the bump stay hidden under the wool and thread.

[00:42:40]The bump in the carpet and the go to bed.

[00:42:51]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like lifted.

[00:42:58]The base slides low to the gifted.

[00:43:06]I leave the bump where it's always been.

[00:43:13]The bump in the carpet and the begin again.

[00:43:23]The needle lifts, the carpet lies flat.

[00:43:31]But I know the bump like I know the cat.

[00:43:55]M the chip in the coffee mug is on the rim right where I sip.

[00:44:06]A little missing piece of clay that fits against my lip.

[00:44:13]I got it at a yard sale with you the summer of the rain.

[00:44:21]The chip in the coffee mug and the knot again.

[00:44:28]The bass walks low like a broken thing.

[00:44:32]The guitar swells like a song I sing.

[00:44:35]The upright plays a chord that sounds like cracked.

[00:44:42]And the brush drum taps a little sacked.

[00:44:46]I run my tongue along the chip edge. The crackle on the record is the broken pledge.

[00:44:56]Oh, the chip in the coffee mug is a flaw I've come to love.

[00:45:04]A little piece of pottery that fits like a glove.

[00:45:11]It never leaks. It never cuts. It just reminds me of the day the chip in the coffee mug and all went away.

[00:45:24]So let the rim stay rough and the clay stay bare.

[00:45:33]The chip in the coffee mug and the always there.

[00:45:54]The arch top strums a cord that sounds like fill it. The base slides low to the kill it. I could sand it smooth, but I let it be. The chip in the coffee mug, and the meant to be.

[00:46:13]The needle lifts, the mug is in my hand.

[00:46:21]The chip is there like a grain of sand.

[00:46:54]He clicks on an empty floor tonight.

[00:47:01]I'm dancing with a shadow in the pale porch light.

[00:47:08]The furniture been pushed against the wall.

[00:47:15]The vinyl spinning something sad and small.

[00:47:22]The base slides up to where your hand would rest.

[00:47:29]The guitar swells against my lonely chest.

[00:47:36]The upright plays a chord that sounds like, "Hold me close."

[00:47:43]And the brush drum whispers what I miss the most.

[00:47:50]My heels click a rhythm you used to lead.

[00:47:57]The crackle on the record plants a lonely seed.

[00:48:04]Oh, heel clicks on an empty floor where we used to sway.

[00:48:12]I close my eyes and pretend you came to stay.

[00:48:18]Every step is a memory I can't unlearn.

[00:48:26]Every turn is a bridge that refuses to burn.

[00:48:32]So let my heels keep clicking till the needle lifts. One more slow dance for the empty space you left as a gift.

[00:49:07]The arch top strums a walts that isn't quite right.

[00:49:14]I spin alone till I'm dizzy in the failing light.

[00:49:22]My shadow joins me for the final refrain.

[00:49:29]He clicks on empty floor and I'll dance again.

[00:49:41]The arm lifts slow.

[00:49:45]My heels fall still.

[00:49:50]The empty floor and a window sill.

[00:50:21]The bartender knows my name and my usual drink.

[00:50:28]He doesn't ask how I am cuz he's watched me sink.

[00:50:35]The same stool, the same crack in the leather top.

[00:50:41]The same slow jazz spinning till the jukebox drops.

[00:50:48]The base walks slow like a friend who knows the truth.

[00:50:55]The guitar swells like the ache inside my youth.

[00:51:01]The upright pads a cord that tastes like cheap red wine.

[00:51:08]And the brush drum hisses like I'm crossing a line.

[00:51:15]The bartender pours without looking at my face.

[00:51:21]The crackle on the vinyl fills the empty space. Oh, the bartender knows my name.

[00:51:31]and the hurt I hide.

[00:51:35]He's seen me laugh. He's seen me swallow my pride. Every slow dance I've danced alone in the back. Every promise I broke and every heart attack. So let him pour another while the vinyl spins.

[00:52:01]The bartender knows my name and where the pain begins.

[00:52:14]The archtop plays a chord that sounds like last call.

[00:52:21]I'm not at the bartender against the wall.

[00:52:28]He wipes the counter and he turns the lights up slow.

[00:52:35]The needle finds the groove, but I'm not ready to go.

[00:52:45]The arm lifts up.

[00:52:48]the bartender size.

[00:52:52]I leave my usual tip and my usual lies.

[00:53:19]The dime you dropped on the jukebox is still in the slot.

[00:53:28]A silver little circle of the past we forgot.

[00:53:34]You pressed B14 on a Tuesday night.

[00:53:41]The dime you dropped on the jukebox and the sound took flight.

[00:53:56]The bass walks slow to the rhythm of a song.

[00:54:04]The guitar swells where the love went wrong. The upright plays a chord that sounds like play it again.

[00:54:17]And the brush drum taps like a forgotten friend. I still remember the number and the bside track.

[00:54:31]The crackle on the record is the night we can't get back. Oh, the dime you dropped on the jukebox. Played a song called Lonely May. The singer sang about a love that went through it all away.

[00:54:52]Every time I hear that intro, I'm back in the diner booth.

[00:55:00]The dime you dropped on a jukebox.

[00:55:05]and the honest truth.

[00:55:09]So let the silver tarnish and the slot go dry, the dime you dropped on the jukebox.

[00:55:23]And the question why the arch top strums a chord that sounds like B14.

[00:55:40]The base slides low to the in between.

[00:55:46]I drop another dime, but it's not the same.

[00:55:54]The dime you dropped on the jukebox and the fading frame.

[00:56:03]The needle lifts. The jukebox goes quiet.

[00:56:08]The dime is still there in the silent riot.

[00:56:37]The umbrella she left in the stand by the door.

[00:56:45]a faded blue canvas that won't open anymore.

[00:56:52]The ribs are bent, the handles cracked and worn, the umbrella she left on a rainy Tuesday morning.

[00:57:07]The bass walks slow like the drip from the ears.

[00:57:15]The guitar swells like a whisper of leaves.

[00:57:21]The upright plays a chord that sounds like pitter.

[00:57:28]And the brush drum taps soft and bitter.

[00:57:35]I open the umbrella, but it won't catch the rain.

[00:57:42]The crackle on the record is the echo of the pain. Oh, the umbrella she left in the stand is a promise of return.

[00:58:00]Every time it rains, I put it by the earn. But she never comes to claim.

[00:58:10]The thing she left behind, the umbrella she left and the storm inside my mind.

[00:58:23]So let the canvas rot and the ribs fall apart.

[00:58:32]The umbrella she left and the rain inside my heart.

[00:58:53]The arch top strums a core that sounds like dry.

[00:59:00]The base lies low to a hopeful lie.

[00:59:07]I stand in the downpour without any shield.

[00:59:15]The umbrella she left and the rain that won't yield.

[00:59:25]The needle lifts.

[00:59:28]The umbrella stays wet.

[00:59:33]I leave it there so I don't forget.

[01:00:09]The cigarette burn on the silk is shaped like a little moon.

[01:00:23]A black and crescent on the wood from a night in early June.

[01:00:37]You leaned your elbow on the ledge and let the ash fall free.

[01:00:51]A cigarette burn on the cell and the way you looked at me.

[01:01:05]The base walks low like the smoke outside.

[01:01:12]The guitar swells where the truth tried to hide.

[01:01:19]The upright plays a chord that sounds like embers.

[01:01:26]AND THE BRUSH DRUM TAPS slow November.

[01:01:33]I touch the burn with my fingertip.

[01:01:40]The crackle on the record is the slip of the lip.

[01:01:47]Oh, the cigarette burn on the silk is a scar from a forgotten night.

[01:02:01]When the city lights were blinking and you held the smoke so tight, you flicked the ash out to the dark and didn't see the mark you made.

[01:02:30]The cigarette burn on the sill and the price of the serenade.

[01:02:41]So let the wood hold the black and ring of that June night's glow.

[01:02:56]The cigarette burn on the silk and the love I used to know.

[01:03:11]The arch top strums a cord that sounds like lighter.

[01:03:18]The base slides low to the something brighter.

[01:03:26]I light a cigarette and hold it to the same spot.

[01:03:33]The cigarette burn on the sill and the love I haven't got.

[01:03:46]The needle lifts the smoke curls up and dies.

[01:03:54]Burn stays black under different skies.

[01:04:16]Crack in the ashtray.

[01:04:20]You gave me runs from east to west.

[01:04:30]A thin dark line across the glaze that puts my heart to test.

[01:04:44]I dropped it in the kitchen on a sleepy Tuesday night.

[01:04:57]The crack in the ashtray you gave me and the sorry plight.

[01:05:12]The bass walks low like a broken step.

[01:05:16]The guitar swells like a promise kept but bent.

[01:05:26]The bride plays a chord that sounds like fisher and the brush drum taps a slow whisper.

[01:05:38]I run my finger along the break.

[01:05:45]The crackle on the record is the heart to take. Oh, the crack in the ashtray you gave me still holds the ash just fine. It doesn't leak. It doesn't spill. It just shows a different line.

[01:06:06]Like the crack you left across my chest when you walked out the door. The crack in the ashtray you gave me and the broken core. So let the glaze hold the dark scar where the ceramic split the crack in the ashtray you gave me.

[01:06:34]A bit by bit.

[01:06:58]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like glue. it.

[01:07:05]The base slides low to the wish I knew it.

[01:07:12]I still use the ashtray every single day. The crack in the ash tray you gave me in the same old way.

[01:07:33]The needle lifts.

[01:07:36]The ashtray sits on the sill.

[01:07:43]The crack is still there, but it holds still.

[01:08:10]The faded receipt from the diner is tucked inside my purse.

[01:08:24]From the last time we had breakfast before the final curse.

[01:08:36]Two eggs over easy.

[01:08:42]A coffee black for you.

[01:08:50]The faded receipt from the diner and the morning dew.

[01:09:05]The bass walks low like a waitress's feet.

[01:09:12]The guitar swells like a bitter sweet.

[01:09:20]The upright plays a chord that sounds like order.

[01:09:27]And the brush drum taps at the border.

[01:09:34]I pulled the receipt out and read the faded date.

[01:09:41]The crackle on the record is the hand of fate.

[01:09:48]Oh, the faded receipt from the diner says $8.49.

[01:09:56]You left a dollar on the table and you said the rest is mine. I paid the bill with shaking hands and watched you walk away.

[01:10:11]The faded receipt from the diner on a Tuesday in May. So let the thermal paper fade to an invisible white.

[01:10:25]The faded receipt from the diner and the good night.

[01:10:36]The arch top strums a core that sounds like diner.

[01:10:44]The base slides low to the something minor.

[01:10:51]I fold the receipt and put it back in its place.

[01:10:58]The faded receipt from the diner and the empty space.

[01:11:10]The needle lifts, the receipt is white.

[01:11:14]The ink is gone, but I hold it tight.

[01:11:36]The loose thread on your side of the bed is fraing gray.

[01:11:43]I caught my toe on it this morning in a funny little way.

[01:11:50]I tried to tuck it back, but it came out again.

[01:11:57]The loose thread on your side of the bed and the loss of men.

[01:12:11]The bass walks slow like a sleepy dog.

[01:12:14]The guitar swells through the morning fog. The upright plays a chord that sounds like blanket.

[01:12:24]And the brush drum taps, a quiet merit.

[01:12:32]I pull the thread and it gets longer.

[01:12:36]Still the crackle on the record is the head my fill. Oh, the loose thread on your side of the bed is a metaphor. I know.

[01:12:58]You pulled away too quickly and you left me in the slow.

[01:13:11]The fabric's coming undone.

[01:13:17]Where your body used to lie.

[01:13:25]the loose thread on your side of the bed.

[01:13:32]And quiet.

[01:13:35]Why?

[01:13:38]So let the thread keep unraveling with every turn I take.

[01:13:46]The loose thread on your side of the bed and the heart that's awake.

[01:14:00]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like so it the base slides low to a place I know it. Ty not the thread with a clumsy hand.

[01:14:21]The loose thread on your side of the bed and the no man's land.

[01:14:32]The needle lifts, the thread holds for now.

[01:14:40]The bed is made, but I don't know how.

[01:15:07]The smudge on the window where you waved is still on the glass.

[01:15:15]The shape of your palm and the fingers that had to pass.

[01:15:23]I trace it with my thumb on the cold November pain.

[01:15:30]The smudge on the window where you waved and the coming rain.

[01:15:45]The bass bows low like a train on the track.

[01:15:52]The guitar swells like a Don't look back.

[01:15:59]The upright plays a chord that sounds like goodbye.

[01:16:06]And the brushed drum taps a soft little lie.

[01:16:14]I press my hand against the smudge you made.

[01:16:21]The crackle on the record is the price I paid. Oh, the smudge on the window where you waved is the fingerprint of loss.

[01:16:38]Your hand was on the glass before you threw your hat across.

[01:16:49]The taxi pulled away and you didn't turn your head.

[01:16:56]The smud on the window where you waved and the words I left unsaid.

[01:17:07]So let the smudge stay on the glass until the cleaning day.

[01:17:15]The smudge on the window where you waved and the gone away.

[01:17:26]The archtop strums a chord that sounds like station.

[01:17:34]The base slides low through a generation.

[01:17:41]I draw a heart next to the smudge you left.

[01:17:48]The smudge on the window where you waved.

[01:17:54]And the love be the needle lifts the window fog with my breath.

[01:18:07]The smud is still there on the edge of death.

[01:18:29]The whistle of the 300 a.m. train cuts through the silent street.

[01:18:44]A lonesome cry of steel and steam.

[01:18:51]that makes the silence cheat.

[01:18:58]I lie awake and count the cars as they rumble past the bend.

[01:19:13]The whistle of the 300 a.m. train and the message it won't send.

[01:19:30]The base holds a note like a far away hum.

[01:19:38]The guitar swells like a sleepy thumb.

[01:19:45]The upright plays a chord that sounds like leaving.

[01:19:52]And the brushed drum taps a soft bering.

[01:19:59]I press my ear to the cold window glass.

[01:20:07]The crackle on the record is the let me pass. Oh, the whistle of the 300 a.m.

[01:20:18]train is the whistle of goodbye.

[01:20:27]The sound that woke you up the night.

[01:20:35]You packed your bags to fly.

[01:20:42]You followed that train to somewhere new and left me with the sound, the whistle of the 3 a.m. train.

[01:21:05]on the lost and found.

[01:21:10]So let the lonesome whistle blow through every sleepless vein.

[01:21:26]The whistle of the 300 a.m. train and the ghost of the remain.

[01:21:42]The arch top strums a chord that sounds like sleep now.

[01:21:49]The base slides low to a broken bow.

[01:21:57]I wait for the whistle, but the train has passed.

[01:22:05]The whistle of the 300 a.m. train and the dark at last.

[01:22:17]The needle lifts. The silence comes back.

[01:22:23]The train is gone on a different track.