Lyric

I take the back plate off

And set it by the lamp

The room holds its breath

In a circle of dust

A washer rolls once

Then rests by my thumb

I catch it in time

Like it still matters

The bigger parts lie open

The broken wires show

But the little ones decide

Where everything can go

Nothing is too small to keep

Nothing is too slight to save

I put each silver piece aside

Like it has a way back home

If the whole thing ever breathes again

It starts with what stayed near

I find a little hope

In what did not disappear

There is oil on the paper

And rust under my nails

A label half-faded

On a drawer that still slides

I do not trust my memory

So I line the pieces up

One by one in order

Like a quiet kind of faith

The world throws out the missing

The bent, the nearly gone

But some things need a patient hand

To prove where they belong

Nothing is too small to keep

Nothing is too slight to save

I put each silver piece aside

Like it has a way back home

If the whole thing ever breathes again

It starts with what stayed near

I find a little hope

In what did not disappear

Maybe I cannot fix it all

Maybe some rooms stay dark

But I have seen a dead machine

Begin with one clean spark

So I keep the quiet pieces

I keep the almost lost

Some returns are tiny

But they matter more than most

Nothing is too small to keep

Nothing is too slight to save

I put each silver piece aside

Like it has a way back home

If the whole thing ever breathes again

It starts with what stayed near

I find a little hope

In what did not disappear