[Verse 1] You say “harbor” when you mean “home” And “window” comes out “winnow” again I used to bite each syllable back As if a clean word could make me whole [Pre-Chorus] But your patient face stayed open While my vowels took the long way round [Chorus] Call it “morrowglass,” the shape of what we feel A word with crooked corners, truer than the real I’ll speak the bent syllables, let their meaning bloom A language made of almosts, making room for room And every strange translation turns my face ahead I’m not a flaw to edit—I’m the words I haven’t said [Verse 2] I name the ache “blue orchard” now The brave small pause “a door that learns” Each wrong turn leaves a mark we keep A map that only my mouth can draw [Pre-Chorus] No dictionary holds it Still you know me when I try [Chorus] Call it “morrowglass,” the shape of what we feel A word with crooked corners, truer than the real I’ll speak the bent syllables, let their meaning bloom A language made of almosts, making room for room And every strange translation turns my face ahead I’m not a flaw to edit—I’m the words I haven’t said [Bridge] Tomorrow has no proper name So let me meet it mispronounced [Final Chorus] Call it “morrowglass,” a future we can spell With sounds that missed the mark and found us all the same I’ll speak the bent syllables; they carry me ahead I’m not a flaw to edit—I’m the words I haven’t said
