The story
He still fits where he used to stay.
He stands at the motel door with a room key in his hand, letting the light catch on it like something small that can still cut. The bed is made, the chair is empty, and every object in the room keeps the shape of who left first. He holds the key a little longer, knowing it opens nothing he can keep.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.