(Verse 1)
I hated the grit of the sand in my coat,
The scratch of the collar against my own throat.
The clatter of spoons and the soot on the pane,
The walk to the market in relentless rain.
I was wishing for trumpets and banners to fly,
While the actual world just went drifting on by.
Now I’m catching my breath in a place with no air,
Missing the weight of a hard wooden chair.
(Verse 2)
I see you out there just counting the days,
Lost in a heavy and colorless haze.
But you’re missing the sound of the latch on the gate,
The grease on the iron, the chip on the plate.
The blinking, the breathing, the salt on the skin—
I’m a ghost at the window just trying to get in.
It’s a miracle found in a bucket of coal,
And the "nothing" you hate is the heart of the soul.
(Chorus)
Oh, hallelujah for the dull and the slow,
For the shadows that stretch and the embers that glow.
Bless the mud on the boot and the knot in the thread,
Before you are numbered among all the dead.
It’s a riot to ache, it’s a gift to just be,
I’m a prisoner of silence and I’m begging to see
A Tuesday so long that it feels like a year,
Just to taste the metallic, sharp tang of a tear.
(Verse 3)
You’re staring at walls like they’re bars on a cage,
Waiting for someone to turn a new page.
But I’d give my spirit for a cough or a bruise,
For the mud and the rocks in the soles of my shoes.
We’re built out of stitches and small, quiet tasks,
Out of filling the jars and out of venting the flasks.
I was rushing for glory and missing the light
That catches the dust in the middle of flight.
(Verse 4)
We’re just a loan that the dirt’s gonna collect,
A brief, walking breath that we fail to respect.
But the debt is the beauty, the end is the price,
You can’t cherish the fire without tasting the ice.
Every beat of your heart is a grace-period win,
So let the salt and the struggle sink under your skin.
Life’s only sweet 'cause it’s borrowed and thin,
When you’re out of time, you’ll see the sublime.
(Chorus)
Oh, hallelujah for the dull and the slow,
For the shadows that stretch and the embers that glow.
Bless the mud on the boot and the knot in the thread,
Before you are numbered among all the dead.
It’s a riot to ache, it’s a gift to just be,
I’m a prisoner of silence and I’m begging to see
A Tuesday so long that it feels like a year,
Just to taste the metallic, sharp tang of a tear.
(Bridge)
Notice the pulse, notice the heat,
The way that the gravel feels under your feet.
It’s frantic and ugly and perfect and plain,
It’s the blessing of work and the mercy of strain.
Don’t wait for the ending to look at the start,
Just let the "ordinary" break open your heart.
Be glad for the boredom, be glad for the ache—
I’m screaming for one more—
(Outro)
Just listen to the wind.
Watch the rain fall.
