Keep twisting that radio dial. Keep that needle on them lost and static sounds that I first heard and fell for when I was a child. I still sing them every night. Oh, how Billie sang and Lightnin' played through that jukebox all night. That was the first time I ever saw you smile.
I got letters from dead lovers in a shoebox in my room, cuz no one understands me except for ghosts and, maybe, you. I'm bringing home that jukebox and it'll one day be my tomb. And I'm gonna build a house for you.
The summers came with thunder, the winters came with age. You say that I got older, I say these songs have never changed. I still sing them every night with the hope to take me back to when you used to wear that smile, with your eyes so full of shipwrecks and your hands so full of god, that pull the waters from the earth and give them back as rain.
I wrote songs about dead writers on my way to Sunday School, cuz Lord knows I ain't got no one except for ghosts and, I pray, you. So I'm bringing home that jukebox and it'll one day be my tomb, and I'm gonna build a house for you. Maybe someday I can live there too.
For all the dead lovers on the radio: I carry wood and stone.
For all the dead poets to whom I owe it all: I carry wood and stone.
And for you I carry all this wood and stone.
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