Rung Call

[Verse 1: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, winching, belted] Pole metal cold under a palm that knows the grain I carry boots and timing and a list of every name Upstairs hits the first bell, I drop and pass it on Bay waits on my landing before they move at dawn Hands on the rail, lungs full of oil and smoke Headset dead for hours, so the voice becomes the yoke I do not own the house, I own the middle span If my count blanks out, the whole bay loses plan [Hook: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, loud, winching, belted] My boots find so their bay can move Not a speech, a timing they can trust and prove Grip the rail, count the eight, send the next one through Chain holds only if the middle drop is true [Verse 2: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, winching, harder] Upstairs bell gutters out before it clears the loft I wait a count of eight and feel the dark get soft No spare runner coming, no headset to beg Only muscle maps and a song inside my leg I sing the drop numbers like a rope thrown down Bay hears the meter even when they lack the crown Winching breath into a night that wants to stall Craft is not a sermon when the quiet eats the call [Verse 3: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, pad slap, winching] Boots hit pad, pad slap pops against the rubber Guitars stack under me like timber finding cover I never see bay answer, only feel the shift Boots start moving somewhere past the apparatus lift My job ends at the sound I leave upon the floor Somebody else will curse this quiet and call it chore Firehouse pole does not need my name in lights It needs a woman who can count through broken nights [Bridge: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, loud, winching, belted] Grip the rail, count the eight Send it on, do not wait Pad slap, quiet loses Middle drop refuses [Hook: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, loud, winching, belted] My boots find so their bay can move Not a speech, a timing they can trust and prove Grip the rail, count the eight, send the next one through Chain holds only if the middle drop is true [Outro: Winching kiln-rib female rock singer, breath hard, stacked guitars ring out and fade] Pad slap, still glowing Tell the bay we keep going [End]