Track 3 of the album Porch Light Left On · 2016
Never Learned Your Name, Number Seven
“I never learned the name of the man in Number Seven, but I know his tomatoes. That's how most of us know each other.”
acoustic · neighbourly folk · wistful acoustic · 3:33
Lyrics
You water your tomatoes when the light goes gold I hear your tap run slowly, and the kettle getting old Seven years of nodding, over the low fence We trade the weather's moods, and never much more sense Your radio plays softly through the thin back wall A cricket match in summer, a hymn when leaves fall I know your cough in winter, I know your step at ten And still I could not tell you your name if asked again Oh, neighbour, number seven, never learned your name But I know the way you hang your washing in the rain We are strangers by the hedgerow, and friends by the light You leave the porch lamp burning, and I sleep easy at night When I was ill in March you left a loaf on the stair No note, no knock, no question, just the warm bread there I stood a long time in the hallway with the crumbs And wished I'd been the kind who knew how kindness comes Oh, neighbour, number seven, never learned your name But I know the way you hang your washing in the rain We are strangers by the hedgerow, and friends by the light You leave the porch lamp burning, and I sleep easy at night Tomorrow I'll walk over, with a jar of plum jam I'll say good evening, neighbour, and tell you who I am And you may smile and tell me, or you may simply nod Either way I'll thank you, for the quiet kind of God Number seven, number seven Late summer on the fence I'll say it in the evening, when the swallows go Hello, hello