[Verse 1]
Tuesday, cart with the one bad wheel,
fluorescent hum over the cereal aisle,
and there it is — Golden Crown fig preserves,
same sticky label, her pantry style.
Four years since the funeral flowers wilted,
nobody's said her name out loud since May,
and your knees go soft by the applesauce,
hand on the shelf till the room settles down.
Woman behind you asks if you're alright,
you say fine, you say stocking up for the week,
but the wheel keeps squeaking the whole ride home,
and your throat's too full to speak.
[Chorus]
Grief don't knock, it just rides the cart in,
finds you by the soup cans, says it missed you.
It doesn't knock, it just walks right in,
years go by and it still gets to.
[Verse 2]
That night you don't scroll, don't shove it in a drawer,
you open a small quiet page just for her name,
drop in the voicemail where she says "call me back,"
the porch photo, the way she said your name.
Write the fig jam story, the brand, the shelf it sat on,
her broth recipe she never wrote down right,
nobody sees it, no likes, no feed to feed it,
it's just hers, kept warm, a dollar a month, goodnight.
So when the aisle gets you again next March,
you've got somewhere to put the weight,
not a fix, just a drawer that opens back,
a place where her language still stays straight.
[Bridge]
Still, some Tuesdays the jar just wins,
still your throat locks before you choose it,
the page doesn't empty out the missing,
it just gives the missing somewhere to sit.
[Chorus]
Grief don't knock, it just rides the cart in,
finds you by the soup cans, says it missed you.
It doesn't knock, it just walks right in,
years go by and it still gets to.
[Verse 3]
Your sister finds the page in October,
asks can she add the one about the lake,
you say yes, say there's room for everyone's version,
every stray memory, every small mistake.
She drops in the sound of the screen door creaking,
the way Mom hummed off-key doing dishes,
and the page gets heavier, gets fuller, gets kinder,
stitched from everybody's different wishes.
Some nights you scroll through just to hear her laugh again,
caught sideways in a cousin's old recording,
it doesn't fill the chair that's empty at the table,
but it's proof that she's still worth the wording.
[Outro]
So the cart still catches, the aisle still aches,
but now there's a door marked with her name,
grief don't knock, but neither does love,
and both of them stay just the same.
[Chorus]
Grief don't knock, it just rides the cart in,
finds you by the soup cans, says it missed you.
It doesn't knock, it just walks right in,
years go by and it still gets to.
[Chorus]
Grief don't knock, it just rides the cart in,
finds you by the soup cans, says it missed you.
It doesn't knock, it just walks right in,
years go by and it still gets to.