[Intro] [Verse 1] Silver worn thin where her thumbnail sat, Left foot missing, folded bill for that. Coat on a nail, cup balanced on the sill, Seven little screws in an empty mint tin. She used a teaspoon when the switch got stuck, Tapped it twice, then, "There. That's enough." Forecast crackled through a walnut grille, She knew the jingle, said she hated it still. Filmed those taps before she passed it to me, "Bottom's loose. Put your palm beneath." I reached for a rag and a little dish soap, She caught my wrist before the cloth got close. "See that dash where the three used to sit? Couldn't see the print, so I penciled it." Back in the towel with the corner torn, "Take the spoon too. You'll need it more." [Hook] [Child] Why don't you wipe that off? [Female] Leave the thumbprint on the dial. Wipe the dust, not the little crescent. Keep that pencil where she left it. Three's rubbed out; the dash will do. One small click before the voice comes through. Her thumb could find it with the lights out. Mine goes past it every time. [Verse 2] Corner shop offered a faceplate swap, New cloth front and a polished top. I said, "Fix the wire. Leave the pencil there." He put a question mark beside "repair." Came back Friday, cloth across his knees, He'd slid the spoon inside a paper sleeve. "Couldn't find your station on the bench." He shrugged, "Might only work at your address." I rang her up before I'd hung my coat, "I found your station." Held it to the phone. A weather reader took a breath, then coughed, She said, "That's him," before the cough had stopped. I asked what made that station worth the fuss, "Weather," she said. "He gets it close enough." "Rain at four. I've still got washing out." Then called to someone else to bring the basket down. [Hook] [Child] Is that a secret little sign? [Female] Leave the thumbprint on the dial. Wipe the dust, not the little crescent. Keep that pencil where she left it. Three's rubbed out; the dash will do. One small click before the voice comes through. Her thumb could find it with the lights out. Mine goes past it every time. [Verse 3] Kept the little click before the voice came through, The bit she wanted gone was what I looped. Two dry knocks from her spoon against the case, Cut the second short; let the first one take its space. Kick underneath, snare a fraction late, Didn't shift her knocks to make the timing straight. Played it down the phone; she sat through the mix, Then asked, "Why keep the part I tried to fix?" [Outro] [Child] Did she like what you made? [Female] "The drums are loud," she said. "And don't lose that little spoon." I told her I knew where it went. Leave the thumbprint on the dial. Three rubbed out; the dash still there. Her washing dried across two chairs. Her little click stayed in the snare.
