Christine Lavin - Firehouse lyrics

I've lived in this neighborhood for twenty-seven years I know where to get good bagels and exotic beers the favorite sidewalk cafes where locals like to eat but I never paid attention to the firehouse on this street On one side is a parking lot the other side a laundromat across the street's a small boutique where you could find an antique hat on the corner an all-night diner and discount drug store where life goes on but not quite like the way it did before At first there was a slender thread of optimistic hope the digging went on round the clock no one slept, but somehow coped the photos of the missing men were posted on the gla** of the red door where we said a prayer whenever we walked past The wind shifted to the north smoke filled our lungs stung our eyes, burned our throats left a bitter taste upon our tongues we drank more than we should have before we went to bed everyone I know had nightmares filled with helpless dread Day blurred into night then day then night then day again 'missing' was the buzzword too hard to think this was the end for young men charging up the stairs as hell came rolling down though logic wasn't on our side we thought they'd all be found 'Cause still there was this slender thread of optimistic hope the digging went on round the clock no one slept, but somehow coped the photos of the missing men were posted on the gla** of the red door where we said a prayer whenever we walked past Neighbors lit votive candles laid flowers at that door baked ca**eroles and homemade breads but wished they could do more the guys inside were grateful but preferred to grieve alone trained to save the lives of others they could not save their own Maybe next year the pain won't be as sharp as it is today though it will never completely go away and we will talk in terms of 'before' and 'after' the attack and wish more than anything we could bring those brave men back Reality sliced cleanly through that slender thread of hope the digging went on and on some snapped most of us still cope the photos of the missing men are missing from the gla** of the red door where we say a prayer whenever we walk past