More songs

Born in Chicago, about a hundred years ago.
Industrial Revolution, but they built you pretty slow.
A young girl picked you out of a Sears and Roebuck catalog,
And you were westbound on a train to Omaha.
She took you to the parlor, played Sebastapol.
When she sold you to a railroad man,
you were seventeen years old.
He played you at every barn dance on the Iron Mountain Line
And somehow that suited you just fine.

(chorus)
And you never were a Martin, but you didn't try to be.
Just a mail-order six-string, spruce and mahogany.
From hand to hand they passed you,
A little further down the line.
And somehow that suited you just fine.

When the railroad man retired,
your neck was bowed with age.
So he gave you to a porter, a bluesman in his day.
He got himself a bottleneck, and he played you delta slide.
And somehow that suited you just fine.
When I found you in the junk shop,
You were well into decline.
Your back was broke, your bridge was gone,
Mud dobber nests inside.
Didn't know if I could fix you, but I knew I had to try.
So I took you home and tried to make you mine.

(chorus)

"It's simple enough," she said, as if saying made it so.
As if anyone could know and leave with no regrets.
"It's nothing personal," she sighed, but it was personal to me.
Casting ashes on the sea, and what she chooses to forget.

(chorus)
"Why won't you play in three-quarter time?
Play in three-quarter time?
Stay in three-quarter time for me?"

I'm still bargaining with the gods
When you've reached a state of grace.
Moving to some better place,
That's what they want you to believe.
"For my sake," she said,
"Won't you please give up the guise?
Let the awkward silence stay,
Like a shadow on the X-ray,
And if I let go, do not grieve."

(chorus)

'I can always depend on you," she said,
"To set the song in minor keys,
But if you write a song for me,
Write a song to make me smile."
"I always liked a waltz," she said,
" 'cause it makes me want to dance,
So while you have the chance,
won't you lift my heart and please...."

(chorus)

On the outskirts of town, there's a place I have found, Where the whiskey pours down like cold rain.
So I go there, and I try to drink you off my mind,
But the memories just won't go away.

(Chorus)
If you come back I'll say that I'm sorry.
If you come back I'll say anything.
Just tell me what to say. I can't go on this way.
Our love won't fly upon broken wings.

Well, mistakes, I've made a few,
But you've made yours too.
Cold indifference and a burning restlessness.
You were never satisfied, and I was too blind
To notice your unhappiness.

(chorus)
(instrumental verse)
(chorus)

I've left on the kitchen light.
It keeps burning bright
In the hopes that you'll walk through that door.
We can cry, we can shout,
We can still work this out.
And tomorrow won't be like before.

(chorus)
Our love won't fly upon broken wings.