Yardsale - The Avett Brothers
I wonder if this blade ever ran
Through someone's side
The blood wiped away to hide
How evil you grandfather was 'fore he died
But war can make monsters out of us all
I'm sure I'd become one if I was called
And then it would
Be my blade
Here at this
Yardsale
The guitar I am holding is way out of tune
The neck
It is warped
And the saddle is through
I wonder if sweet music ever was played
From the hands of a boy
To a girl in the shade
From this rickety ghost of a song
Here at this
Yardsale
A dollar for anything here on this quilt
A price tag for hands
From which all things are built
A blanket of voices speak pleasure in shame
Flowers of plastic
And fruit of the same
A basket of
Nothing at all
Here at this
Yardsale
So if I had the money
I'd buy everything
And cover the whole lot
With good gasoline
And burn it for all that I care for the
Past
And rid mother earth
Of what never should last
And give her the
Present
Of ash
Made of a
Yardsale
