Photographs in the Glovebox

[INTRO] Violin + Guitar [Verse 1] The evening sun slid under corn— We drove while crickets tuned the road, Dust trailing like a ribbon on our taillights. You reached and stole the map I kept, Said, “See the coffee stain by step?” And every mile unknotted with your laugh. [Verse 2] We turned down Miller's gravel lane, Where queen‑anne’s lace grew through the drain, Their white heads bowing like an old parade. In the glovebox, folded tight, A parcel wrapped in a ticket‑bite— A Polaroid of July, your freckles in the shade. [Chorus] Photographs in the glovebox, Thumb‑worn edges, sun‑soft spots. Your grin caught 'cross a porchlight, A porch swing's scrape. And when the highways pull us long, I hear your pocketknife's small song— In photographs in the glovebox We keep the sparks. [Verse 3] A younger us by Mason's pond, Your jacket hung on a fence post, We didn't know the weather yet could change. Now film fades to copper tones, But I can smell your cigarette, And that back‑porch hymn still keeps me in range. [Chorus] Photographs in the glovebox, Thumb‑worn edges, sun‑soft spots. Your grin caught 'cross a porchlight, A porch swing's scrape. And when the highways pull us long, I hear your pocketknife's small song— In photographs in the glovebox We keep the sparks. [Bridge] (soft, chant-like) Hold the ticket stub, the cigarette burn, Let the engine hum bring the afternoon back. What we were: a dented tin can, a thrown‑away lighter— All the lanes still call us by the names we used to say. [Final Chorus] (lift, layered harmonies) Photographs in the glovebox, Pages stamped with roadside rain. Your laugh trapped in a rearview frame, The radio's faint refrain. When the town feels like a distant shore, I open that little metal door— In photographs in the glovebox We ride again.