The story behind this song
Cardboard boxes every other fall, new school, new street, the same crack in the same wall. When the shouting started downstairs, two kids sat close on the third stair and split a pair of headphones — one side each, so neither had to hear it alone. Two knocks meant I'm not alone. One took the blame for the cracked window; the other learned to cook so nobody went to school on an empty stomach.
Nobody handed them a map; they drew one on each other's backs. For the brother or sister who held the line through every slammed door — the kid on the stairs who never left your corner.
Lyrics
Two kids learning how to hold a spark
New school, new street, same crack in the wall
You'd slide your headphones over my ears
One side each, so neither of us could hear
Two knocks meant I'm not alone
You and me, sister, that's the form
Thunder taught us how to stay
Holding hands on the third stair
Whatever broke down there
We were never gonna break that way
I learned to cook so you wouldn't go to class
On an empty stomach — we split the toast
The smoke alarm sang and we laughed the most
We drew one on each other's backs
You and me, brother, that's the form
Thunder taught us how to stay
Holding hands on the third stair
Whatever broke down there
We were never gonna break that way
And mine think stairs are just for climbing on
We did that — we broke the weather line
Look at us now, still warm
Thunder taught us how to stay
Holding hands on the third stair
Whatever broke down there
We were never gonna break that way
Two kids who made a light out of the dark
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