[Verse 1 — Present] The bar was almost empty the rain falling light down the windowpanes in the amber-lit night My coat hanging neatly over midnight-blue velvet the napkin lay folded close by my hand I set down my glass well back from the edge then turned for a moment and it slipped from my hand A bright sudden crash on the black marble floor the voices fell silent and I was small once more [Pre-Chorus] A white linen tablecloth two shoes, far too small a glass on the tiles then voices that screamed A chair scraping backward a shadow in the hall the sound of the breaking did not come from here alone — [Chorus] “Don’t move,” he said softly, “there’s glass on the floor right there by your shoes.” “Don’t move” — I knew that sound, but he only knelt down with a broom in his hand Don’t move don’t move just glass on the floor at my feet in the light [Verse 2 — The Older Room] A table too high a glass far too large a stain on the white cloth my breath locked inside Then voices rose higher far over my head a plate left untouched an evening torn open A key in the lock a door slamming shut by morning a suitcase stood there unexplained One hook on the wall left bare beside me I didn’t know why I only knew what came first [Pre-Chorus] First came the glass then voices grew loud first came the pieces then someone walked out I carried that order without any words through rooms and through years wherever I turned [Chorus] “Don’t move,” I heard it again, through doorways and years, through every new room “Don’t move” — my body understood: a glass on the floor, a suitcase in the hall Don’t move don’t move my whole life balanced at the edge of my hand [Verse 3 — The Trace] In apartments later at tables for two the glasses stood inward and my words did too I said, “It’s okay,” before anyone asked smoothed creases from linen that no one had made I never held doors closed never asked anyone to stay I let people leave before they could walk away And called it being peaceful and called it being me reflected in glassware I never could see [Bridge — The Same Words] He was still kneeling with broom and cloth his eyes on the splinters not once on me “You’ll cut yourself.” That was all he said. And slowly his hand brushed the shards from the light No chair scraped backward no voice rose loud no key in the lock no door slammed now Only water on marble only broken glass only his quiet hands in the stillness of night [Final Chorus] “Don’t move,” he said softly, the shards in the light right there by my shoes “Don’t move” — I was still standing there, the glass had been broken and stayed only glass Don’t move don’t move the door kept on turning the rain still fell [Outro] He set down fresh water in a new glass I folded my fingers quietly around it The bar was almost empty the rain falling light I took one small sip and set it back down This time the glass fell. And nobody left.
