Story: The Day the Story Was Late
Verse 1
Morning came in through the curtains
gold and green and slightly wild,
dust was dancing in the kitchen
like the day had lost its mind.
Kettle singing on the counter,
sparrows stitching up the eaves,
and my thoughts came running after,
out of breath and jangling keys.
Pre-Chorus
But the sky was already open,
the floor was already there,
the toast was already burning,
light was tangled in my hair.
Chorus
Oh, the story came late to the party,
buttons wrong and talking fast,
trying to tell the room what happened
as if it hadn’t already passed.
But the world was laughing softly,
turning blue and gold and free,
and for a shining little moment
there was no one missing me.
Verse 2
Down the street the dogs were grinning,
children swung their voices wide,
someone dropped a bag of oranges,
they went rolling like little suns.
A bus sighed open at the corner,
coffee crowned a paper lid,
and everything was so completely here
I could hardly call it “this.”
Pre-Chorus
There were footsteps, there were leaf-shadows,
there was wind against my face,
there was something bright and wordless
running rings around my name.
Chorus
Oh, the story came late to the party,
wearing yesterday’s perfume,
trying to hang its heavy curtains
in a wide and singing room.
But the room kept spilling over,
full of sparrow, steam, and street,
and for a shining little moment
even longing lost its seat.
Bridge
Not because the ache was over,
not because the mind went still,
but because the whole bright river
didn’t need my help to fill.
There was sorrow in the sunlight,
there was joy inside the rain,
and both of them were dancing
without asking for a name.
Verse 3
Afternoon leaned into evening,
violet climbing up the glass,
someone somewhere played bad disco,
someone somewhere kissed and laughed.
I could feel the old world reaching
for its robe of should and why,
but the moon came up so casually
it forgot to split the sky.
Chorus
Oh, the story came late to the party,
with its ledger and its claim,
trying to pin the stars to reason,
trying to call the wind by name.
But the night had other music,
and the crickets knew the key,
and for a shining little moment
life was just occurring beautifully.
Outro
So let the story come if it wants to,
let it chatter, let it preen,
there’s a dance floor under everything
where the lights stay low and kind.
And the heart keeps time without trying,
and the world arrives complete,
and the story comes late to the party,
late,
late,
to the beat.
