Pictures of Your Exhibition

A daytime moon in an empty sky, through our bedroom window frame*
A coffee cup left on the deck, half-filled up with rain
A lonely arm in an unmade bed that you splattered with drops of paint
And me standing there on the front porch steps holding postcards from our pain
Chorus
The pictures of your exhibition came in yesterday’s mail
And so I get to see once more how we managed to fail
The souvenirs of our inhibitions splayed there on the page
Your frigid touch, an empty glass, and all my pointless rage
I can’t stop staring at the one of our son, fallen in the backyard dirt
You framed his head with yellow light, like a halo that’s not quite done
He’s got a busted truck, a face full of mud, and grass stains on his shirt
And you painted us both there in his face, our tears streaming down in the sun
The pictures of your exhibition came in yesterday’s mail
And so I get to see once more how we managed to fail
The souvenirs of our inhibitions splayed there on the page
Your frigid touch, an empty glass, and all my pointless rage
Instrumental Verse
There’s a rainy glaze over everything, battered trees stretching for the sky
Kids playing ball, a street full of cars, a coffee shop’s neon sign
Fire hydrant yellows and new car reds, riding on asphalt gray
And I see it all through your window frame, and you see it all from mine
The pictures of your exhibition came in yesterday’s mail
And so I get to see once more how we managed to fail
The souvenirs of our inhibitions splayed there on the page
Your frigid touch, an empty glass, and all my pointless rage