The copper wire is humming with the tension of the frost, Keeping track of all the profit and the heavy human cost. I sit inside this shack of tin beside the iron rail, Translating every dot and dash into a bloody tale. The stove is out of anthracite, the coffee’s cold as stone, And I’m the only man for fifty miles who’s ever truly lone. The key is clicking steady with the market price of grain, Ignoring all the thunder and the coming of the rain. [Verse 2] At two o’clock the rhythm changed, the pulse began to stutter, A message meant for General Gates came through a static mutter. It wasn’t codes for powder or for crates of heavy shell, But a list of names of farm-boys who had traded heaven for hell. The wire told me clearly that the ridge had finally broke, And the army to the north of us was nothing more than smoke. But the Major in the valley thinks the line is holding fast, Waiting for a victory that’s already in the past. [Verse 3] I looked out at the mountain where the signal-fires glow, And I looked back at the paper where the ink began to flow. I could relay the slaughter or I could simply cut the line, And let the boys in khaki think the weather’s looking fine. The "clack-clack" of the brass is like a finger on my chest, Asking me to choose the lie that puts the soul to rest. Is a man a coward if he stops the news of death, Just to give a dying soldier one more quiet, easy breath? [Verse 4] The General’s son is on that list, he’s barely twenty-one, And I’m the only man alive who knows his race is run. If I tap out the message, then the retreat starts tonight, But if I keep the silence, they’ll be overrun by light. The philosophy of signals is a cold and heavy thing, You’re just a servant to the wire and the misery it brings. I touched the lever softly and I felt the copper spark, Deciding who gets morning and who stays inside the dark. [Verse 5] I didn't send the tally and I didn't send the names, I just watched the brass arm cycle through its automatic games. I took the wire-cutters and I stepped out in the snow, And severed every connection to the world I used to know. The line went dead and silent, just a silver, fallen thread, No more voices for the living, no more records for the dead. I walked back to the station and I broke the clicking key, Finally just as quiet as I’m supposed to be.

The Static Mutter