[Verse 1] The locksmith cut our house key crooked; it still turns, if I lift the knob. You laugh with flour on your sleeve, I love the way you say “we’re out of salt.” Then I buy peaches in January, a coat with six inside pockets, walk home pleased with the small theft of being somebody else for ten blocks. [Pre-Chorus] The key bites my thumb. I know that tooth. Still, I try every door in the shop. [Chorus] I love this house; I keep testing the lock. I want your hand, and a name you don’t know. I’m grateful, I’m bored, I’m sweet on the life here— then spend Tuesday’s rent on a room with a view. If I leave, I’ll miss how you fold the tea towels. If I stay, I’ll wonder what else I could do. [Verse 2] One bright dinner, one stranger’s careful joke; their sleeve smells faintly of oranges. I come home carrying guilt like groceries, set it down beside the good bread. I eat standing up, then save you the heel. The key’s got a new notch filed in it— I swear I didn’t ask for that, though I watched the little sparks. [Bridge] Maybe escape is a pastry eaten slowly at the counter where you know my order. Maybe freedom’s just the spare key I keep polishing and never lend. [Chorus] I love this house; I keep testing the lock. I want your hand, and a name you don’t know. I’m grateful, I’m bored, I’m sweet on the life here— I haven’t decided what the key is for.
