Verse 1 The weather vane’s rusted out facing the east You speak of your hunger while feeding the beast I know the contour of the words that you bend They bend right back and start to look like friends In a quiet room, a sudden drop of glass You hand me something that you hope will pass For genuine — a rare and a fragile thing With all the warning labels missing from the string.
Chorus How do you carry water in a woven net? How do you pay a debt that was already met? You offer up a light in an unlit hall When you’re the one who painted over every wall The weather shifts, but the shadow stays A sudden naked hour in a hundred days I take the offering, but I count the seams And wonder if the waking is just another dream.
Verse 2 The ink is all dry on a different page You gracefully step away from center stage The script is left blank, and the actors are gone And you’re not even locking the heavy doors anymore So when you say it plain, without the mist It catches somewhere just beneath my wrist Not quite a dagger, not quite a dove Just a strange geography of who you were, my love.
Bridge It takes a steady hand to hold a straight line When every sweet illusion was a neon sign Pointing inward to a quiet, forgotten maze Where stories and reality spent their separate days And now here it is — just another shape, Another phantom wearing a familiar cape.
Outro You want to say it plain, but it slips through your hands Like trying to hold water in open hands. Once the first one is spoken, the story has to grow — A habit of hiding we both learned to know. The labyrinth finally runs out of walls.