[Intro] The bench does not build the house The vise does not swing the blade The tool can hold the work in place But the hand still chooses where the cut is made [Verse 1] I laid the paper on the table Like a field before the rain Ink beside it black and waiting Like a thought that learned my name Good bench underneath me Vise grip holding true Not to tell me what to make But to keep the line from moving through I have seen a sentence tremble When the pressure found its seam Seen a phrase try to escape me Like a thief inside a dream But the hand knows weight The hand knows drag The hand knows when the edge bites clean The hand knows where the silence gathers Before the mark is seen [Pre-Chorus] Not the tool Not the blade Not the voice inside the wire Not the speed Not the shine Not the borrowed little fire [Chorus] The hand chooses where to cut Where to cut the ink onto the paper The hand chooses what to leave What to hold and what to taper The hand chooses Heard loud Heard true No machine can answer for What the living hand must do The hand chooses where to cut And the cut remembers you [Verse 2] There are words that want the doorway There are words that want the throne There are words that come in smiling Just to make the page their own Some need sharpening Some need mercy Some need leaving in the dark Some are only little sparks And some arrive already marked I do not worship every sentence I do not crown the clever line Some things glitter while they rot Some things arrive before their time So I clamp the thought And turn it slow Let the grain begin to show If it holds I let it stand If it lies I let it know [Pre-Chorus] Not applause Not attack Not the fever of the room Not the rush Not the flash Not the flower before the bloom [Chorus] The hand chooses where to cut Where to cut the ink onto the paper The hand chooses what to keep What to burn and what to labor The hand chooses Heard loud Heard true No machine can carry what The living hand must choose The hand chooses where to cut And the cut remembers you [Bridge] Bench for the burden Vise for the phrase Pressure for the crooked thing That tries to walk away Ink for the witness Paper for the field Hand for the judgment That refuses to yield Cut for the falsehood Room for the true Silence for the thing That has not spoken through Do not blame the hammer Do not crown the saw A tool has no conscience A hand answers law [Breakdown] Hold it still Turn it slow Where does the bad grain go Press it down Hear it crack Some words leave And don’t come back Ink on paper Blood in line Cut the false And spare the spine Name the weight Test the claim Leave no wound Where there should be name [Verse 3] I have used the mirror badly I have loved the blade too much I have pressed a phrase past mercy Just to prove that I could touch But I am learning older patience Learning force without display Learning not all cuts are holy Just because they clear the way Some cuts open Some cuts end Some cuts make a wound a friend Some cuts free what got tied down Some cuts only wear a crown So I ask the page for footing I ask the ink for weather I ask the hand to stay awake While grief and craft work together [Final Chorus] The hand chooses where to cut Where to cut the ink onto the paper The hand chooses when to speak When to wait and when to labor The hand chooses Heard loud Heard true No machine can answer for What the living hand must do The hand chooses where to cut And the cut remembers you [Outro] The bench holds The vise grips The blade waits The ink drips The page breathes The room shuts The hand knows Where it cuts Not the tool Not the wire Not the ghost inside the sound The hand chooses The hand chooses The hand chooses What goes down
