Pennyweight

Lyrics

Close the door behind you, brother, shut the avenue away.
The winter draft is heavy, it could throw the scale astray.
You brought your mother’s locket and a tangled scrap of chain.
We don't put the iron counterweights on the pan for things like this.
There's a little glass cathedral where the balance swings and tips.

We don't weigh the daily bread like this.
We don't count the lumber in the yard.
We only fetch the forceps and the tiny yellow brass,
When we are taking something beautiful apart.
Down to the dust, down to the shave.
It's a terrible precision that we save.

Slide it 'cross the velvet, let me see the underneath.
I can scrape away the solder, I can pry the broken clasp.
Twenty years of wearing it, a quiet kind of grief,
And it all comes down to metal resting in a silver dish.
My hand is practiced with the tweezers,
But I have to hold my breath.

We don't weigh the daily bread like this.
We don't count the lumber in the yard.
We only fetch the forceps and the tiny yellow brass,
When we are taking something beautiful apart.
Down to the dust, down to the shave.
It's a terrible precision that we save.

If I used a pound, I'd rob you.
If I used an ounce, I'd lie.
So we cut the measure smaller than a cinder in the eye.
I know it hurts to see a memory
Scraped into a little pile.
But justice in this quiet room
Means treating it as worthwhile.

So take the paper money, brother.
Turn your collar to the snow.
I'll sweep the velvet table before the next one comes to sell.
We only measure closely when we’re letting something go.
Letting go.
Just a little dust to let it go.