Lyric discussion by weakerfan 

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

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