behind the couch in the room in the basement,nthere lies an electric guitarnwound the same way from five hundred years agonrust fills the battle scarsnlong to scream to a silent crowdnso soft and abrasive, embarrassed and loudnholding the truth no one else was allowednignoring the day to day.na car in the driveway staining the gravelnbeneath it the blackest of blacknwas a soldering gun, was a miracle tonicnbut now it can never grow backnall the parts that you lost through indifference and pride.ntell me who has been taking who for a ridensetting the course for the rest of your lifenfrom freedom to the day to day.nbut when you're too young to pine for the good old timesnand too old to run away at the first sign of change,nthrow up your hands because everything fadesnexcept for the day to day.nbeneath the archway that holds up the ceilingnthere stands the love of my lifenthey say compassion turns to pity and passion into comfortnbut she's got better things to do with her timenand honest to god, i don't know what i'd donif something were ever to happen to younso let this build the bridge connecting the twonthe future to yesterdaynand we'll watch summer grow into january lowsnas the calendar falls down from the wallnwe'll open our hands and try to embraceneven the day to day.