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.
