Thousand

I come in cautious, like a counterfeit guest, My mothball sport coat to your fetching dress, In a house we own but I have no claim to yet Rip up the carpet and repaint the doors. We've plenty pain without these old eyesores. I know you're tired, but we need those wooden floors. And it's a shame your mother couldn't see us now, When we've made charts and graphs to prove we mapped it out. Plug in the TV, let the snowflakes fall. Wait one more hour. Give your dad a call. Say we just got in, and we're much too tired to talk. We've lived alarmingly since the outset, Explored the attic space like Jacques Marquette. I'd gladly walk the cable wire without a safety net. And it's a shame there's nothing left to find That hasn't been exposed and posed a thousand times.