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Cormac Blake

First supper home

Sings at funerals and weddings, often the same week

the numbers

bpm
108
key
D major
energy
0.71
dance
0.95
valence
0.54
vocal at
2.3s
length
3:25
language
En

lyrics

I dropped the keys in a blue enamel bowl

Set the brown bread down, still warm from the roll

One pan on the hob, and the kettle began

I found a chipped mug with a crack in its hand

Tomatoes on the board, onions in a tin

A spoon on the counter, a match by the sink

The empty room waited, plain as a prayer

I lit the gas and stood right there

First supper home

First supper home

First supper home

First supper home

I fed the room with the smell of stew

First supper home

The curtains were thin and the floorboards sighed

I fried up the onions till the edges browned bright

A jar of cheap salt, a dent in the can

And the radio muttered from a second-hand stand

Steam on the glass and flour on my cuff

A fork in the drawer, one chair by the stove

I sliced through the loaf, heard the knife make a sound

Like a small hard promise in a room I’d found

First supper home

First supper home

First supper home

First supper home

I fed the room with the smell of stew

First supper home

My mother’s old pot, black on the rim

My hands shook once, then steadied again

I stirred the lot slow, watched it take form

A flat in Galway, and a table born

First supper home

First supper home

First supper home

First supper home

I fed the room with the smell of stew

First supper home