"Holes" is a soulful, acoustic-driven Americana track that explores the beauty found in the artifacts of the past. The song reflects on the lives once lived and the stories left.
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Story behind the song
Lyrics and concept by Ward C Locke. Music produced with Suno AI.
Lyrics
Cracked Pyrex with the mushroom print
Someone's grandma served her casserole in this
Lipstick stain on a coffee cup rim
Forty years of meals and now it's five bucks and some stranger's wish
I'm elbow deep in a cardboard box
Of postcards nobody saved, nobody kept
Wish you were here from 1962
And I'm wondering who the hell was left
I'm buying up the bones of other people's lives
Searching through the wreckage for something that survived
Every chipped plate and broken frame
Is someone's whole world that forgot their name
I'm a vulture, I'm a thief, I'm an archaeologist
Trying to fill the holes in me with someone else's shit
There's a shoebox full of someone's father
Bellbottoms and a thumb across the lens
Wedding photo, divorce papers, high school letter jacket
All the stuff his kids didn't want in the end
Old lady perfume mixing with the mold
Mothballs and regret and something I can't name
I'm neck-deep in the discount bin of souls
Playing detective with the dead, it's a sick game
I'm buying up the bones of other people's lives
Searching through the wreckage for something that survived
Every chipped plate and broken frame
Is someone's whole world that forgot their name
I'm a vulture, I'm a thief, I'm an archaeologist
Trying to fill the holes in me with someone else's shit
What am I looking for in all this dust?
Some proof that someone mattered, that anything does?
Or just another lamp I'll never use
Another dead man's tie, another stranger's blues
Found a diary with the pages torn
Someone didn't want the truth to last
But here I am, holding what they tried to burn
A ghost whispering through the trash
Maybe I'm the one who ends up here someday
My records in a milk crate, dollar each
Some kid laughing at my taste, throwing half away
Everything I loved, just beyond their reach
We're all just bones in other people's lives
Waiting for the wreckage, hoping something survives
Every chipped plate and broken frame
Was someone's whole world before it lost its name
We're all vultures, we're all thieves, we're archaeologists
Filling up the holes in us with everyone else's shit
Yeah, filling up the holes in us with everyone else's shit
