Weakerthans - This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open

Weakerthans

This Is A Fire Door Never Leave Open

Headlights race towards the corner of the dining room. Half
illuminate a face before they disappear. You breathe in forty
years of failing to describe a feeling. I breathe out smoke
against the window, trace the letters in your name. Our
letters sound the same; full of all our changing that isn't
change at all. All straight lines circle sometime. You
said "Somewhere there's a box full of replacement parts to all
the tenderness we've broken or let rust away. Somewhere
sympathy is more than just a way of leaving. Somewhere
someone says 'I'm sorry.' Someone's making plans to stay."
So tell me it's okay. Tell me anything, or show me there's a
pull, unassailable, that will lead you there, from the dark,
alone, benevolence that you've never known, or you knew
when you were four and can't remember. Where a small knife
tears out those sloppy seams, and the silence knows what
you silence means, and your metaphors (as mixed as you
can make them) are linked, like days, together. I still hear
trains at night, when the wind is right. I remember
everything, lick and thread this string that will never mend
you or tailor more than a memory of a kitchen floor, or the
fire-door that we kept propping open. And I love this place;
the enormous sky, and the faces, hands that I'm haunted by,
so why can't I forgive these buildings, these frameworks
labeled "Home"?

Mirror lyrics:

labeled "Home"?
so why can't I forgive these buildings, these frameworks
the enormous sky, and the faces, hands that I'm haunted by,
fire-door that we kept propping open. And I love this place;
you or tailor more than a memory of a kitchen floor, or the
everything, lick and thread this string that will never mend
trains at night, when the wind is right. I remember
can make them) are linked, like days, together. I still hear
you silence means, and your metaphors (as mixed as you
tears out those sloppy seams, and the silence knows what
when you were four and can't remember. Where a small knife
alone, benevolence that you've never known, or you knew
pull, unassailable, that will lead you there, from the dark,
So tell me it's okay. Tell me anything, or show me there's a
someone says 'I'm sorry.' Someone's making plans to stay."
sympathy is more than just a way of leaving. Somewhere
the tenderness we've broken or let rust away. Somewhere
said "Somewhere there's a box full of replacement parts to all
change at all. All straight lines circle sometime. You
letters sound the same; full of all our changing that isn't
against the window, trace the letters in your name. Our
years of failing to describe a feeling. I breathe out smoke
illuminate a face before they disappear. You breathe in forty
Headlights race towards the corner of the dining room. Half

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