Photograph

You hide it in your pocket, a paper thin time machine
With the edges torn by the tacks on the wall where it once was seen
In your leather weathered wallet the picture has faded green
But it holds your heart tied in a knot by some tethered dream

You can call it your poor misfortune
Call it anything at all
It's still your unlearned lesson
And you'll be lucky to learn at all

She smiles a wise smile, I guess she's played it's tricks for you
Cracking it for a while to keep your spinning head from you
And wise eyes smiling their deeper brown eyed hue
They let nothing out, you begin to doubt their point of view

You can call it your poor misfortune
Call it anything at all
It's still your unlearned lesson
And you'll be lucky to learn at all

Just some colors on a piece of Kodachrome
And the lover throwin' the same old stones
Yea, they hit you now like they hit you then, hey, that's something
That a ticking clock is a crock of nothing; changes nothing

You hide it in your pocket