Lyrics: The concrete surface isn't level anymore. My treads are polished thin, Worn smooth by the friction of where I’ve been. Every step is a calculation of resistance, A stuttered pace in a crowded grid. I am searching for a surface that doesn't slide, Where the friction isn't just a way to hide. Interactions! Are my reactions! To the imperfections! Of my shoes! Losing traction! To these numerous interactions! To belong! To these many factions! The tribes are built on shifting sand, I’m offered a grip by a dozen different hands. But every faction demands a tax on the sole, An abrasive rub to strip back the whole. I’m sliding sideways through the hallway of belief, Finding no purchase, finding no relief. Interactions! Are my reactions! To the imperfections! Of my shoes! Losing traction! To these numerous interactions! To belong! To these many factions! (Why do we run on surfaces that fail?) To prove we’re moving. (Why do we wear the soles down to the seal?) To stay in the groove. (The ground is slick with the oil of the desperate.) The factions demand the slide. We aren’t walking, we are colliding! Interactions! Are my reactions! To the imperfections! Of my shoes! Losing traction! To these numerous interactions! To belong! To these many factions! I am done with the dance of the grip. I am done with the slip. The soles are gone. And finally... I am standing still.
