[VERSE 1 — IMMEDIATE / LOW / RHYTHMIC] Hollow-ground against the leather, temper drawn from darker steel, every pass removes a fraction of what refuses to reveal. Bay rum bitter through the senses, straightedge tracing near the vein, shears divide the visible from what survives beneath the grain. [PRE-CHORUS — KEEP MOVING] Hone the edge a little colder, draw the leather slow and thin, there are lines that end at surface and others that begin within. [CHORUS — DEEP / DRIVING] Carry the straightedge through the margin, past the place the silver knows, taper every easy answer until nowhere left can close. Leave the question in the hollow, let it settle past the skin, there are edges made for endings— this one only lets them in. [VERSE 2 — CONTINUOUS] Clipper current through the marrow, grosgrain (groh-greh(n)) resting at the throat, comb the order from the pattern until only traces float. Alum burns along the boundary, leather draws the temper keen, every pass becomes familiar without repeating where it's been. [PRE-CHORUS — BUILD] Hone the edge a little colder, draw the leather slow and thin, there are lines that end at surface and others that begin within. [CHORUS — DARKER] Carry the straightedge through the margin, past the place the silver knows, taper every easy answer until nowhere left can close. Leave the question in the hollow, let it settle past the skin, there are edges made for endings— this one only lets them in. [BRIDGE — LOW / RHYTHMIC / NO BREAK] Run the bevel past the language, past the shape a name can hold, through the narrowest division where the warm gives way to cold. Leave the excess to the straightedge, leave the certainty behind, somewhere just beyond the taper runs a line no hand designed. [FINAL CHORUS — DEEP / CONTROLLED] Carry the straightedge through the margin, past the place the silver knows, taper every easy answer far beyond where reason goes. Leave the question in the hollow, let it travel past the skin, there are edges made for endings— this one bends and comes back in. [OUTRO — KEEP RHYTHM MOVING] Against the grain, the leather draws. Something passes through the pause. No reflection. No reply. Just the edge— and what slipped by. [HARD CUT]
