The Silver Wake

C4 - E4 - G4 - E4]

I tracked the mud across the floor, tracing where your boots had been.

There’s a groove worn in the hardwood now, a map of everywhere we’ve lived.

It’s the friction of a ghost, the weight of things we never said.

Just a heavy, quiet pull that keeps me tethered to the bed.

(Chorus)

There is a silver wire sewn through the center of my chest.

It leads out the window, past the trees, to where you finally rest.

It doesn’t snap, it doesn’t fray, no matter how the distance grows.

I’m just a kite without a hand, following where the cold wind blows.

(Verse 2)

I saw a ripple in the grass today, like someone walked right by my side.

The air got thick and resisted me, a place for a memory to hide.

They say every motion leaves a wake, a lingering, jagged line.

And I am drowning in the current of the life you left behind.

(Bridge)

It’s not a choice, this constant lean toward a north I cannot see.

I am the anchor, you’re the tide, and you’re still moving under me.

The space between us isn’t empty, it’s a hum, a tension, a thrum.

Tied to the ghost of a rhythm, beating on a muffled drum.

(Outro)

Still connected.

Still caught.

The wake you left is all I’ve got.

(Fading out on a low C)