Lyric

I turn the key in the back room door

Dust on the handle, oil on the floor

A broken clock waits with its face turned down

I lay my hands where the wires run out

I do not know what can be saved

I only know what still remains

One small spark in a quiet frame

One tired part still holding its name

I breathe in slow Under the Bench Light

Loose screws shine like stars in a tray

I am not here to make it brand new

Just to hear what it still has to say

If something answers, I will listen

If nothing moves, I will stay

The radio coughs when I touch the dial

A voice comes through for half a while

The solder cools in a silver line

Like a scar that learned to keep its shape with time

Some things break and still belong

Some weak wires keep holding on

I do not force the sound to rise

I wait for the low reply

I breathe in slow by the workroom light

Loose screws shine like stars in a tray

I am not here to make it brand new

Just to hear what it still has to say

If something answers, I will listen

If nothing moves, I will stay

Maybe repair is not return

Maybe the old heat has to burn

Lower now, but not erased

Changed in the current, kept in place

I breathe in slow with the lamp still on

Small parts gathered where they lay

I am not here to make it brand new

Just to hear what it still has to say

If something answers, I will listen

If nothing moves, I will stay