This one’s a musical love letter to the woman who made an empty room with a weekly rate feel like home. The imagery is all pulled from real life—old boots, a Sharpie number on the dash, dollar beers in mason jars. I’ve played gigs where the crowd wasn’t listening, and that’s fine. Because sometimes the only person you’re really playing for is the one dancing with you, cardboard soles and all. It’s got a me-characteristic stutter to the rhythm in places, almost dropping a beat and recovering. Kinda like the way I dance.
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 rented 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 the 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 old boots with a cardboard soles
There’s a gap in my life filled with smoke
With the sting of winter and the smell of cloves
It’s all becoming crystal clear
She might be the missing piece
Folding chair and an old guitar
Dollar beer in a mason jar
Sing this song though shuffling feet
To the girl that is my missing piece
To the girl that is my missing piece