Coal Won't Heat the Stove

Maybe the basement’s made of rubbish.
Maybe the pipes declared an armistice.
I don’t here them clickity-clank in the evening hours.
Maybe we find a way to keep what is ours.
Maybe the bank turns it into a condo.
Maybe the crack in the pane caused the drip in your nose.
I don’t see it running after a few repairs.
Maybe we find a way to stay in the bed that we made for years.

Maybe the coal won’t heat the stove.
Maybe we’ll have to sleep in our clothes.
But I’ve got moments here, waiting for the mail truck to appear.
Opening the letter when the bank wants to foreclose

So what if our home is built on a fault line?
So what if the ceiling drips and the drain pipes
Twist in knots we can’t unblock on our own?
So what? It’s the only house we’ve ever known.

Maybe the coal won’t heat the stove.
Maybe we’ll have to sleep in our clothes.
But I’ve got moments here, sealing the cracks in a vanity mirror.
If humanity is anything it won’t let me out of my home.

Maybe the snow lays off of the porch.
Maybe the walls will need to lean on a crutch.
Maybe the floor moves when we walk.
Maybe the outlet’s wired up wrong.
But I’ve got moments here, waiting for the new day’s sun to appear.