The teacher asked, if something was wrong at home.

Its 7:30, and hes not yet home.

That’s not much different, than most nights.

He says work is killing him, but your just not sure.

All you know, is that long ago, she stopped asking, when he’d be home.

.

How do you, pick up the pieces?

How do you, put it all back together?

When it seems  like, it’s just you and her, against the world.

.

The dinner is burnt, and there are tears from upstairs.

The homework was thrown, across the room,

the pencil lays snapped, on the  kitchen floor,

and she’s upstairs, crying in her pillow.

It seems like most nights end, with her crying in her pillow.

She swears the teacher, never assigned that work,

Maybe shes right, or maybe its just another lie.

 

How do you, pick up the pieces?

How do you, put it all back together?

When it seems like, its just you and her, against the world.

 

You want to go, pick her up, and hold her tight

You want to tell her, she will be alright..

You want to make it all, all go away.

But right now she thinks, its her against you,

and you don’t know, how to change that,

and you don’t know, how to make it better.

 

How do you, pick up the pieces?

How do you, put it all back together?

When its really just you and her, against the world.

 

© words/lyrics by Dan DeMarle 12/7/16