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Your father was a liar.
He spent his nights in other towns,
and moved from bar to bar.
On Sundays donned the cloth and told
the sinners of the fire.
And there’s a hole in the pocket of a Sunday dress
where something fell through on the day he left.
It’s been long outgrown, but you keep it all the same,
as a token of that December day
that taught you that promises can break.
You tell them all your secrets:
the sleepless nights you spent alone,
and photographs you burned,
wondering if the memories
were worth the lessons learned.
And the mockingbird cries in the darkest night,
so you sleep beneath a fluorescent light.
You thought it would get better with the turn of spring,
and you beg the Lord, while the mockingbird sings,
to be saved by anyone or anything.
On the morning that spring came,
you woke to find it all the same,
in the same cold bed with the same mistakes.
And the snow that you watched melt away
had soaked through your skin into your veins.
And you cried into the pouring rain,
for your winter bones still remained.
released March 15, 2014
Kylie Branch / harmonies