Into The Rafters

(The Rust and the Ribbon)

There's a rust on the hinges of the county gate,

Where the weeds grow tall and the watchmen wait.

With a copper penny and a broken tooth,

We traded our shadows for a rented truth.

The wires hum low in the gravel yard,

Where the winter's heavy and the ground is hard,

And the river runs dark like a vein of lead,

Singing old-world hymns to the newly dead.

Oh, wind through the rafters, sing me a lie,

Tell me the earth isn't swallowing the sky.

We built our cathedrals of tin and of bone,

And locked all the silence inside of a stone.

So pull on the ribbon, untangle the thread,

There's room for the living alongside of the dead.

By the pale amber light of a vacuum tube,

We carve out our names in a subterranean groove.

There are gears in the floorboards, teeth in the wall,

And a slow-bleeding shadow stretching down the hall.

You can polish the brass, you can oil the locks,

You can bury your secrets in wooden boxes.

But the grain of the timber remembers the rain,

And the rust on the iron comes back again.

Oh, wind through the rafters, sing me a lie,

Tell me the earth isn't swallowing the sky.

We built our cathedrals of tin and of bone,

And locked all the silence inside of a stone.

So pull on the ribbon, untangle the thread,

There's room for the living alongside of the dead.

In the dark of the cellar, the copper wires gleam,

We're all just the static inside of a dream.

Not flesh anymore, just a signal displayed,

A ghost in the network, a blueprint delayed.

Can you hear the current? Can you feel the pull?

The ledger is empty, but the memory's full.

Let the copper wires cool down in the dust.

Everything softens.

Everything rusts.

Pull on the ribbon.

Untangle the thread.

Rest easy now,

in the ash and the bed.