[Intro: walking bass, horn stab] Latch is rusted but it opens if you press Smell of lake water trapped inside the mess [Verse 1] I found it in the garage behind the paint and the tarps Green plastic tackle box with his name in marker marks Trays still full of lures like a city made of chrome Spinnerbaits and plastic worms he never brought back home He used to leave at four a.m. with coffee in a jar Come back smelling like the dock and humming like a car Then one spring he sold the boat and he did not say a word Just stacked the box and turned away like fish were for the birds [Chorus] Tackle box, tackle box Sitting in the dust Tackle box, tackle box Holding all his trust Every lure a little plan he made before the dawn Every hook a conversation that is finished and still on Tackle box, tackle box I cannot throw it out Tackle box, tackle box That is what grief is about [Verse 2] Mama said to donate it, somebody else could use the gear I said, give me one more week, and that week became a year I open it on Sundays when the house is too damn still Hold a silver spoon lure up and feel the old chill He taught me how to cast behind the shed when I was eight Said, patience is a muscle, girl, and lying is a weight I never caught a keeper but I caught the way he looked When the line went tight and the whole world was a hook [Chorus] Tackle box, tackle box Sitting in the dust Tackle box, tackle box Holding all his trust Every lure a little plan he made before the dawn Every hook a conversation that is finished and still on Tackle box, tackle box I cannot throw it out Tackle box, tackle box That is what grief is about [Bridge: horns stop-time, voice alone then band] Last Christmas he asked me if the lake had frozen clean I said yes, and he nodded like he stood there in between He does not fish and I do not ask and we leave it in the air Some goodbyes are quiet and they live inside a square [Verse 3] I wiped the latch and oiled it so the rust would not win Put the box back on the shelf where the light is getting thin If he ever wants it I will carry it to the truck If he never does, I will keep it, and that is enough luck Grief is not a funeral song that ends when people leave Sometimes it is a tackle box you are not ready to believe [Final Chorus] Tackle box, tackle box Sitting in the dust Tackle box, tackle box Holding all his trust Every lure a little plan he made before the dawn Every hook a conversation that is finished and still on Tackle box, tackle box I cannot throw it out Tackle box, tackle box That is what love is about [Outro: bass walk, soft horn] Latch is rusted but it opens if you press I close it soft and leave it in the mess
