[Intro: warm Rhodes, soft live drums, melodic bass, gentle guitar shimmer] [Verse 1: intimate, lightly playful, easy sway] There's a photo from Grandma's, all the cousins in a row, Squinting at the sun like we had nowhere else to go. Everybody's laughing like we never had a fight — Funny how a picture only keeps the parts that went right. [Chorus: melody opens, warm harmonies, still restrained] The more distant the past, The more beautiful it looks — Too many cousins, not enough beds, And somehow no one seemed to mind. [Verse 2: warmer, affectionate, conversational] My mother still checks on me, and I'm nearly sixty now: "Did you wash your hands? When are you coming home?" It used to drive me crazy — every question, every call. Now I pick up on the first ring, and I don't mind at all. [Chorus: fuller Rhodes and bass, soft backing vocals] The more distant the past, The more beautiful it looks — Too many cousins, not enough beds, And somehow no one seemed to mind. [Bridge: groove thins out, intimate, airy high shimmer] At Grandma's in the attic I would kick the dust up in the air, And the window turned it into light, and I'd just stand and stare. Years later all my magnets, every city, every flight, Got dusty on the fridge door, so I threw them out one night. [Break: almost bare] Same dust. Different light. [Final Chorus: warmest and fullest, not louder] The more distant the past, The more beautiful it looks — But maybe it's not getting prettier, Maybe I'm just getting kinder To who I was back then. [Drop: instruments pull away] Nothing back there changed. I did. [Outro: Rhodes and guitar only, intimate] Phone rings. "When are you coming?" "Soon, Mom. Soon."
