[Intro, soft, intimate, almost spoken] Another night. Another ledger. Another name crossed out in tidy black ink. And still the city bleeds. [Verse 1, low, measured, restrained] I file the rot in careful lines, With proper stamps and proper signs, A clerk’s neat hand, a quiet face, While filth still walks in uniformed grace. They call me useful, good and plain, A tidy cure for paper pain, But I have seen what records hide, The bribes, the lies, the ones who died. There’s blood that never makes the page, There’s grief they lock in iron cages, And all the men who say “be still” Mean “know your place and mind the till.” [Pre-Chorus, rising, conflicted] So tell me, love, What am I meant to do? Keep faith with laws That no longer keep it too? [Chorus, emotional, swelling] I’ve got ink on my hands and smoke in my lungs, Trying to serve what this city once was. And if I do right, it looks so wrong, Helping a man they say I should condemn. But my heart still runs where the contract lies, To the sharp-tongued boy with the watchful eyes. He says he’s not good enough for me— Funny, love... You’re better than half this bloody city. [Verse 2, a little warmer, wistful, bitter undercurrent] We met where bourbon caught the light, Where clever mouths made wrong feel right, You smiled like sin dressed up in charm, And still I never felt alarm. You spoke of ledgers, guilt, and class, Of all the doors that never passed, And underneath your velvet tone I heard a boy still built from bone. You made me laugh, you made me think, You looked at me above the drink, Not as a name or family line, But like the ruin might yet shine. [Pre-Chorus, more personal, aching] And that’s the curse, That’s the bitter little theme: The men inside the law Are not half so decent as they seem. [Chorus, fuller, more wounded] I’ve got ink on my hands and smoke in my lungs, Trying to serve what this city once was. And if I do right, it looks so wrong, Helping a man they say I should condemn. But my heart still runs where the contract lies, To the sharp-tongued boy with the watchful eyes. He says he’s not good enough for me— Funny, love... You’re better than half this bloody city. [Bridge, quieter, trembling, deeply intimate] You foolish man, With your polished lies, Your borrowed silk And your starved-out pride. You looked at me Like I was too clean to touch, Then walked away Because you felt too much. And I was angry— God, I still am now— But not because you wanted me. Because you thought you mustn’t somehow. [Breakdown, low piano, almost whispered at first] So I bend the rules. I stall a file. I lose a report by half a mile. I shift one name. I buy one night. I keep one door just out of sight. For the girls in cells, For the boys they break, For the ones with no one left awake, And yes— For you as well, Though I’d never say it if asked outright. [Final Chorus, biggest emotional peak, controlled but breaking] I’ve got ink on my hands and smoke in my lungs, Trying to serve what this city once was. And if salvation comes dressed all wrong, Then damn the shape that mercy’s in. My heart still runs where the contract lies, To the lonely fool with the guarded eyes. You say you’re not good enough for me— Oh, love... You’re better than the law has been. [Outro, soft, tired, tender] So pour the Blunder. Dim the light. Stamp the papers. Survive the night. And if tomorrow asks what side I’m on— I’ll say: the side that leaves the decent ones alive.
