I don’t fit here, no
Still plays the eighty-dollar guitar he bought at nineteen and refuses better ones
the numbers
- bpm
- 103
- key
- F major
- energy
- 0.72
- dance
- 0.95
- valence
- 0.53
- vocal at
- 2.1s
- length
- 4:57
- language
- En
lyrics
I rolled in on a Friday, dust on my boots from I-35 The cafe sign was half burned out, but the screen door still swung wide My name on the mailbox was peeled off, the porch chair leaned in shame You had a baby gate on the steps, like the house forgot my name I set my keys in the bowl by the sink Saw a new coffee mug, cracked at the lip Your old work shirt was gone from the hook And I felt the whole room slip I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no This place moved on This place moved on I drove past the yard sale signs by the feed store out on Burnet Road Your brother backed the truck in tight, and never asked why I showed There was a new lock on the gate, new paint on the trim, new boards on the shed I stood by the fence with my hands in my pockets, listening to what wasn’t said The summer heat hit the hood and burned A hammer rang from the house next door I watched your curtains breathe in the fan And knew I wasn’t home no more I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no This place moved on This place moved on So I took the long way south on Congress, past the pawn shop and the laundromat With a paper cup of bad gas station coffee cooling in my lap If you left my name at the curb, I won’t stand there in the rain A man can love a place, then leave it standing in its change I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no I don’t fit here, no This place moved on This place moved on
