Glass Strings at Midnight

Rosin dust on your black coat

Case on the kitchen floor

You tune in the glow of the fridge light

Bare feet on a cold tile shore

Play that violin

Let it say my name

Make the old wood shake with every ache I taste

Pull that ribboned string across the bruise and blame

’Cause when you play that violin

I feel everything

You start on a note like a question

Bending it almost to tears

My hand on the edge of the table

Counting the cracks

Counting years

[low vocal register] Bow hair catching on a hidden scar

You close your eyes

Find where the fractures are

Every tremor

Every slip

Is just my memory on your fingertip