Lyrics

One day someone will fold our blankets and send them to the cleaners to scrub the last grain of salt from them, will open our letters and sort them out by date instead of by how often they've been read. One day someone will rearrange the room's furniture like chessmen at the start of a new game, will open the old shoebox where we hoard pyjama-buttons, not-quite-dead batteries and hunger. One day the ache will return to our backs from the weight of hotel room keys and the receptionist's suspicion as he hands over the TV remote control. Others' pity will set out after us like the moon after some wandering child.