The Things I Couldn't Throw Away | Acoustic & Indie Melodies | Acoustic Country-Blues & Dark Folk

   • ✨ Video. All melodies      • 🌿 Acoustic, Folk & Indie Melodies      • 🇬🇧 EN. Midnight Melodies & Acoustic Moods   📜 Lyrics (🎤👨‍🎤 Male Vocal): The house was sold on Monday. I had Saturday to clear. I brought boxes, Tape, A marker, And the courage of a volunteer. I wrote: KEEP. SELL. GIVE AWAY. TRASH. Four kingdoms on the floor. Funny how a whole life Can be divided Into words beside a door. The sofa went to strangers. The table to a friend. Your winter coats went somewhere They'll be warm again. The china wasn't valuable. The radio didn't play. I was doing very well... Until I found The things I couldn't throw away. The things I couldn't throw away Were worth almost nothing. A wooden spoon. A button tin. A recipe for something. A chipped blue cup. A grocery list That simply said: “Bread. Milk. Pears.” Funny what becomes a treasure When the person isn't there. Behind the pantry doorway There were pencil marks and dates. “Eight years old.” “Eleven.” “Twelve.” Apparently I grew in stages. Beside the tallest line You wrote: “Still too short to reach the shelf.” I stood beside it forty years later... And laughed All by myself. The things I couldn't throw away Were worth almost nothing. A wooden spoon. A button tin. A recipe for something. A chipped blue cup. A grocery list That simply said: “Bread. Milk. Pears.” Funny what becomes a treasure When the person isn't there. I found your recipe for soup. No measurements at all. “Some carrots.” “Little pepper.” “Cook it slowly.” That was all. Next to salt you'd written: “Enough.” I stared at that for quite a while. You cooked the way you lived, I suppose. Never measuring what you gave. I thought memory lived in photographs. So I kept them all these years. But memory lives in stranger places. In gestures. Sounds. And smells. I still fold towels the way you folded them. I check the door two times. I cut an apple into quarters Exactly like you did. And every time I say, “Take a jacket, It might get cold...” There you are. Coming out of my mouth. By evening every room was empty. My footsteps sounded wrong. A house without its furniture Suddenly isn't very strong. The new owners come tomorrow. They'll paint. They'll change the doors. And that's all right. A house belongs to whoever Lives there now. The things I couldn't throw away Fit in one little box. The wooden spoon. The button tin. Your recipe. The clock. Not because these things are precious. Not because they're rare. But because ordinary things Remember How somebody was there. I locked the door. Put the box beside me in the car. Then I heard myself say: “Seat belt.” I laughed. All right, Mom. Seat belt. And I drove away.