hammers on the end table,
clothes strung on the stair,
i'd look in the proper space-
but nothing's ever there!

a coffee table altar,
to a lost object's patron saint,
'cause every single thing i own
should be somewhere it ain't

i lose everything i touch
which is ten times what i've got
and i believe my own lies
more often than not...

i leave the door unlocked,
and i sleep with my shoes on,
so i can be well prepared
should something better come along

-but for now-

i try not to get lonely,
and i leave the porch light lit,
but the morning just reminds me
what i tried hard to forget

all i've ever feared i'd lose
well, they just don't compare,
and when i come to find you
i hope you will be there...

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