House in the Field

Four empty walls
Save for the beat up dusty couch
This room is empty
It smells like loneliness
But not for long
We're taking over this old house
Surrounded on four sides
By empty fields and
Dark cold night
But now inside
We drink to the cries
Of the stereo that's screaming low and loud
The paint-chipped screen door
Has little remorse

Cut behind the rolled down window
Open truck door
Stalks of dry corn
He squints his eyes that peer through
Open window light
Shifts his boot to kick the dirt
He sees the spark of youth
That occupies the place he used
To sit at night under low lit TV glare
With playing cards and tired stares

And to think
That we are writing every word
Thoughts serve as the ink
What could ever be more hopeful?
This house is starting to breathe
Beginning to remember the sound of thankful feet
The brazen recklessness of youth
It's so alive

Now out of hand
The icebox bathtub's almost gone
Holes in the bedroom wall
Will not look good by daylight
I step outside
To breathe some real air for a change
But I'm just greeted
By clouds of hanging smoke
And though I hate it
It's so refreshing though
There's something appallingly
It smells like so many times
I've now forgotten
I know that someday
In a mad fit of nostalgia
This night will seem so warm

And to think
That we are writing every word
Thoughts serve as the ink
What could ever be more hopeful?
This house is starting to breathe
Beginning to remember the sound of thankful feet
The brazen recklessness of youth
It's so alive

The ride home is solemn
We've run out of words tonight
I cut the lights and coast in on neutral
I wouldn't want
To wake the neighbors

I know it feels hopeless sometimes
But just hold on
The sun will rise
The questions burn
Keep you awake
But, please, kid
Just have faith
The truth you seek
Is seeking you
It whispers in the trees at night

They all sat next to me at some point in the night
Asked if I missed her
And told me sternly why I shouldn't
I smiled and showed my teeth as I lied
That memories don't spring forth
Or speak of warm fall nights
That play continuous
On my movie reel mind
With distance
She decided at her phone
Then put it down



Credits
Writer(s): David Quackenbush
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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