No Forwarding Address

[Verse]

I wrote you eleven letters between nine years old and seventeen.

Kept them in a shoebox with a jersey and a magazine.

Never sent a single one, 'cause the last address I had

came back with a stamp that said the street belonged to somebody's dad

who was not you. I used to run the tape of what I'd say

if you ever came through a door: sharp stuff, the kind a kid will lay

awake perfecting till it shines and cuts and lands.