[Intro] Small cloth. Big fire. One soft proof for a mouth full of wire. [Verse 1] He kept it folded where the lint kept secrets, white square sleeping in the coat’s black cave. No blade. No bruise. No witness bleeding. Just a little piece of nothing mislaid. He knew the room had a hunger for evidence, knew the heart likes a handle to hold. So he fed it cloth with a whisper around it, watched suspicion turn animal-gold. He didn’t shout. That was the poison. He let the silence do part of the work. One eyebrow. One pause. One “I could be wrong,” then the whole bed started to burn. I’ve seen men kill with less than a sentence. I’ve seen love kneel to a stain. Truth walked in with empty hands, and the lie had a name. [Chorus] Iago’s pocket. Watch what it holds. Tiny white flag turning black in the soul. One little token, one jealous eye. Iago’s pocket made a body from a lie. [Verse 2] He moved like smoke with a wedding ring on it, friendship polished till it passed for clean. Said, “My lord,” with the knife tucked under every careful courtesy. There’s a market for doubt in the back of the mind. There’s a price on a face looking away. He sold him a picture that never happened, then charged him in sleep for the frame. Now the cloth gets louder than the woman. Now the room believes what it can touch. Her voice turns small in the throat of the story because the proof got there first. That’s the trick. That’s the pocket. That’s the devil in a folded seam. Make the lie look clean enough, and men will wash their hands in grief. [Chorus] Iago’s pocket. Watch what it holds. Tiny white flag turning black in the soul. One little token, one jealous eye. Iago’s pocket made a body from a lie. [Bridge] Not all weapons shine. Some hide soft. Some smell like perfume and get passed off. Some sit quiet in another man’s hand, then build a grave where a marriage used to stand. Ask the thread. Ask the bed. Ask the room what the whisper said. By the time truth came beating the door, the lie had learned how to breathe on the floor. [Final Chorus] Iago’s pocket. Watch what it holds. Tiny white flag turning black in the soul. One little token, one jealous eye. Iago’s pocket made a body from a lie. [Outro] Small cloth. No sound. One man smiled, and the whole house drowned. [End]
