Letras
Mama's apron hangs on the back of the chair,
The stitching's frayed, but it's still there.
Coffee stains on the counter tile,
A little worn, but it's got its style.
I sit here tracing the woodgrain lines,
This old house holds all my times.
It's quiet now, too quiet to stay,
But the echoes never fade away.
By the kitchen light, where the stories grew,
Where the world felt safe, where the hours flew.
It saw our laughter, it held our fights,
Everything happened by the kitchen light.
Daddy's boots by the backdoor still,
Mud from the fields, a lifetime to fill.
The clock ticks slow, but the memories race,
Every corner of this house holds a trace.
There's a crack in the wall where we marked our height,
A line for every year, every dream, every night.
By the kitchen light, where the stories grew,
Where the world felt safe, where the hours flew.
It saw our laughter, it held our fights,
Everything happened by the kitchen light.
Time's a thief, it steals what it can,
But it can't take the calloused hands.
Or the scent of bread, or the sound of rain,
Or the way that place soothed my pain.