A                       D
Garage Sale. Saturday. I need to pay
   E                   F#m
my heart's outstanding bills.
A                          D
A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch,
     E       F#m
some plastic daffodils.
     A                 D
The cutlery and coffee cups I stole
     E               F#m
from all-night restaurants,
  A                    D
a sense of wonder only slightly used
  E              F#m       E      D
a year or two to haunt you in the dark.
      A          E        D
For a phone call from far away
       A        E       D
with a "Hi, how are you today?",
      A      E      D
and a sign recovery comes
       A          E         D
to the broken ones.
  A                     D
A wage-slave forty-hour work week weighs
  E            F#m
a thousand kilograms.
   A                            D
So bend your knees comes with a free fake smile
    E              F#m
for all your dumb demands.
    A                      D
The cordless razor that my father bought
     E        F#m
when I turned 17,
  A                        D
a puke-green sofa, and the outline to
  E           F#m      E    D
a complicated dream of dignity.
      A          E            D
For a laugh, too loud and too long.
      A           E       D
For a place where Awkward belongs,
      A      E      D
and a sign recovery comes
       A          E       D
to the broken ones.
       A          E       D
to the broken ones.
       A          E       D
to the broken ones.
       A          A       A
For the broken ones.