[Instrumental] [Intro] I sit with the kettle low, let the cedar smoke do its work (breath by breath) [Verse 1] Old hands in the corner drum, steady like a busted hinge I don’t need a sign in the sky, just the tin cup, the ash, [Hook] I sit with the kettle low, let the cedar smoke do its work the bruise-blue room [Verse 2] Spirits come through the static, breath by breath what’s mine to carry, what can stay on the shelf by the door [Drop] I sit with the kettle low, let the cedar smoke do its work the bruise-blue room [Outro] The answer lands plain: walk slow, keep your pockets clear (breath by breath) Even the radio hum knows when to back off When the beat drops out, I can hear my own feet [edit_end]
