Letra de Matewan
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A small orange T-shirt lays untouched by liquid Tide, nearby on the bedroom floor in a rumpled mess. By rank socks and shoes unlaced: a uniform on its side. I wore that kit through the rain, hey, and I must admit â I would do it again if I didn't have to make the decision. But if I could write a note to myself, hand it backwards, and manage to keep it dry...
As it stands, I was fine, though plenty wet for the wear. I wrapped up in a sleeping bag and listened to records. I bet you were home with the heater on, with that binding band in your hair, thinking over the color of ghosts: yellow, red, pink, blue. And sure I beat you at your game, but you beat me at my game, too.
It's been ten days now since your offering me the ride. The fridge dried out what was left in the take-home box. You're off in Matewan, just sitting by Nana's side, pleasantly plump with the thought that you've nothin' to do. Not a thought to the mornings ahead where you'll be climbing a stool to position another book on the shelf in a quiet suburban strip mall. (Why, oh why?)
And I know I don't know you well, but what is a guy to do, stacking cans at the grocery store for a living? In the dull you'll come to mind, yeah, hooded and baby blue, stepping into a station wagon.
You're with your Grams in New Jersey; I'm alone with my window's rainy view. And I don't intend to exaggerate, but yes, there some moments when I do find I've been thinking of your name. Have you been thinking of my name, too?
As it stands, I was fine, though plenty wet for the wear. I wrapped up in a sleeping bag and listened to records. I bet you were home with the heater on, with that binding band in your hair, thinking over the color of ghosts: yellow, red, pink, blue. And sure I beat you at your game, but you beat me at my game, too.
It's been ten days now since your offering me the ride. The fridge dried out what was left in the take-home box. You're off in Matewan, just sitting by Nana's side, pleasantly plump with the thought that you've nothin' to do. Not a thought to the mornings ahead where you'll be climbing a stool to position another book on the shelf in a quiet suburban strip mall. (Why, oh why?)
And I know I don't know you well, but what is a guy to do, stacking cans at the grocery store for a living? In the dull you'll come to mind, yeah, hooded and baby blue, stepping into a station wagon.
You're with your Grams in New Jersey; I'm alone with my window's rainy view. And I don't intend to exaggerate, but yes, there some moments when I do find I've been thinking of your name. Have you been thinking of my name, too?
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