Old Ticket Stub

An old ticket step on a crowded ferry

A soft assault and hope in my hand

I watched the water fold around the story

Of where we were and where we′d land

Hold on to the small things

Hold on to the light

Even weathered paper

Can survive in light

With salt on the edges

And the sea in view

A little torn reminder that I still believe in you

Faces move like waves through the week and morning

Voices rose and drifted into air

I kept that folding memory in my pocket

Like a promise that somebody cared

Hold on to the small things

Hold on to the light

Even weathered papers

Can survive the night

The salt on the edges

And the sea in view

A little torn reminder that I still believe in you

If the shore feels farther every time I reach it

If the wind keeps changing what I knew

I'll reap that faded stuff like a map back home

And let the lonely tide bury me through

Hold on to the small things, hold on to the light

Even leathered paper can survive the night

But salt on the edges and the sea in view

A little tone reminder that I still believe in you