Nobody writes songs about Tuesday About the trash going out at nine About you standing in the kitchen Eating shredded cheese straight from the bag like it’s fine Nobody puts that in a chorus The dog hair stuck to my black shirt You yelling, “Did you move my charger?” Me saying, “No,” while knowing damn well where it was But I swear If somebody took a picture Of the life we don’t post anywhere I’d frame every boring second And hang the whole damn week upstairs ‘Cause the good stuff ain’t always fireworks Sometimes it’s socks beside the bed It’s you half-listening to my story Still knowing what I’m gonna say next It’s burnt toast and bad directions Laughing when the GPS gets mad If this is all we ever turn into Man, we did pretty damn good with what we had Nobody writes songs about Tuesday So baby, here’s one for us You fall asleep before the movie Then wake up asking what you missed I say, “Nothing,” ’cause explaining it Would take longer than the movie did You leave one sip inside the bottle Like somehow that means it ain’t gone And every morning there’s one cabinet Standing open after you’ve moved on I used to think a life worth living Had to look good from the street Now I think it’s knowing someone’s footsteps Before they ever turn the key Yeah, the good stuff ain’t always fireworks Sometimes it’s your name on my phone A “Do we need anything from Walmart?” Or a “Let me know when you get home” It’s arguing over the thermostat Then pulling closer anyway It’s having nowhere important to be And somehow having a perfect day Nobody writes songs about Tuesday So baby, here’s one for us And someday if we’re lucky We’ll be old and moving slow You’ll still swear you’re not cold While stealing every blanket that we own I’ll forget why I walked in the bedroom You’ll remind me, then forget it too And we’ll laugh until we’re crying Like a couple fools with nothing better to do And that’s the part that gets me— Everybody wants the big moments The champagne, the photographs But nobody tells you while you’re living it The best part happens in between all that So give me the grocery-store parking lot Your hand reaching over the seat Give me Sunday clothes on Monday morning And your cold feet finding me Give me bills we bitch about paying Give me dishes in the sink Give me another thousand ordinary nights That disappear before we blink No, the good stuff ain’t always fireworks Sometimes nobody else would understand It’s a joke we’ve told a hundred times And you still laughing before I reach the end Maybe love ain’t some big answer Maybe life ain’t meant to be Maybe happiness is realizing There ain’t anywhere else you’d rather be Nobody writes songs about Tuesday Guess somebody finally did.
