The Piano Tuner's Afternoon

Lyrics

He comes with a leather case at two,
Knocks twice on the door and he's through.
The old upright in the front room sighs,
Thirty years of dust and lullabies.
He lifts the lid like opening a book,
Gives the middle C a long, slow look.

Turn the pin a little, bring it home,
Every note will find its place alone.
A little flat is nothing to be shamed,
Everything that's loved gets worn and gets reframed.
Turn the pin a little, hear it ring,
That's the sound of mending, that's the thing.

A child's sticky fingerprints on white,
A birthday song played slightly wrong at night.
He listens to the room before the keys,
To the radiator and the afternoon breeze.
Felt and wire and patience, that's his art,
He says the piano keeps a human heart.

Turn the pin a little, bring it home,
Every note will find its place alone.
A little flat is nothing to be shamed,
Everything that's loved gets worn and gets reframed.
Turn the pin a little, hear it ring,
That's the sound of mending, that's the thing.

He never plays a song when he is done,
Just one clean chord, then the work is won.
Pays him in coffee and a slice of cake,
Takes his hat and goes for the next one's sake.

Now the house is quiet, the chord hangs there,
Like a warm coat left on a kitchen chair.
Somebody will sit and start to play,
And never know who tuned the night this way.

Turn the pin a little, bring it home,
Every note will find its place alone.
A little flat is nothing to be shamed,
Everything that's loved gets worn and gets reframed.
Turn the pin a little, hear it ring,
That's the sound of mending, that's the thing.

One clean chord, and the door swings shut,
The afternoon sings, and the tuner's gone.