From the recording Front Porch Project Live
This one’s a love letter to the kind of love that changes the temperature of a room. The details are real. Old boots with cardboard soles. A Sharpie number on the dash. Dollar beers in mason jars. Weekly-rate rooms that somehow start to feel like home.
There’s a little rhythmic stumble built into this song. It nearly drops a beat, then catches itself. We left it that way. Love is like that. You fumble. You recover. You keep moving. Also, that’s how Son dances...
Lyrics
Folding chair and an old guitar
Singing songs though shuffling feet
There’s something that’s just out of reach
Trying to fill that missing piece
On my own for so long now
Just a stack of books for company
In a room that rents by the week
But something about her makes me at ease…
There’s a gap in me outlined in blue
With specks of amber and Spanish green
Like a puzzle I can’t complete
She might be my missing piece
Found a sharpie in my car
She wrote her number on the dash
Drew two rings around her name
One for luck, one just in case
And this gap in me feels like rain
With an outline shaped like an empty hand
Like a sentence I can’t complete
She might be the missing piece
She doesn’t notice that I dance
Like I've got two left feet
That fumble as we cross the floor
In worn out boots with cardboard soles
There’s a gap in me that’s filled with smoke
With the sting of winter and the smell of cloves
It’s all becoming crystal clear
She might be my missing piece
Folding chair and an old guitar
Drinking dollar beer in a mason jar
Sing this song though shuffling feet
To the one that is my missing piece
To the one that is my missing piece