Track Insight / Lyrics
I been in this case since the seven-fifteen to Union
My oil still coats the E in that little yellow smear
He zips me shut, the latch goes like a diner door
Don't worry, I'll keep the B string company till morning
The kid in the grey coat dropped a quarter, said nice tone
I felt that copper warm across my soundhole for a sec
Now his thumbs find the strap, tuck me under his chin
I'm the shape of every track he played since nineteen, you know
So I get wrapped in flannel
zipped up tucked under the seat
The whole train reeks of burnt coffee and some wet wool
I hum a little just the
D like a fridge in a kitchen
He will open me at the platform, and the A string sings
Tuesday a woman put a bill
in my case said thank you
I held that green rectangle all
the way to the next stop
My fretboard holds a map of his calluses, see
He wipes the oil off with the cuff of his flannel shirt
So I get wrapped in flannel, buckled, tucked under the seat
The whole car reeks of burnt coffee, wet wool, and toast
I hum a little just the
D like a fridge in a kitchen
He will unclip me at the platform, and the A string sings
So I sit in the dark of the case, counting the hours
Listening for the zip, the thud of the case on the floor
And then the case pops open
and his thumb finds the G
And we go again, just me and him and the next empty train
