Words and music ℗ © Susan Weber, BMI.  All Rights Reserved.

So you lost your wallet
full of twenties and your license.
Your credibility.
You pretended not to notice
when it fell out on the sidewalk.
I found it in the street.
When I picked it up I saw
your picture you were Agamemnon
walking in your sleep.

No more second chances. No more second chances.
Shut door. Open door. Shut door, no more.

When I climbed the steps
to your apartment I could tell
the carnival had come to town.
I waited there, I heard you play
your saxophone it touched me
like the weeping of a clown.
I could leave your treasure
on a step for you to find it,
but I could not lay it down.

Shut door. Open door. Shut door. Open door.
No more second chances. No more, no more.

I stood there with my shadow
growing longer than the space between
my feelings and my mind.
I thought about your picture,
wondered if I woke a sleeping giant
would I find
a crater full of lonely
more impossible to fathom
than the emptiness in mine.

No more second chances. No more second chances.
Shut door. Open door. No more, no more.

I could live forever
in the shadow of my choices
on the landing by your door.
You could play your sorrow
into lips that gave up kissing
on the day your pocket tore.
I will leave a note inside
a song for you to find
the morning after on the floor
when you stumble out the door.

Shut door. Open door. Shut door. Open door.
No more, no more.