The Fabric of the Ghost

"The Fabric of the Ghost"[Intro](The track opens with the wet, rhythmic sloshing of an industrial washing machine. Suddenly, a massive, vibrating Didgeridoo drone drops in, resonating low in the chest like an underground tremor. A lap steel guitar enters with a long, weeping, metallic slide that hangs in the air over slow, metallic industrial foot-stomps [THUD... CLANG... THUD... CLANG].)Verse 1: Neon and Lavender(The rap delivery is deep, gravelly, and locked tightly into the slow, punishing stomp of the beat. The didgeridoo maintains a constant, circular-breathed undercurrent.)Two in the morning, neon bleeding through the pane,Shaky electric pink reflecting on the black rain.Sitting on a cracked bench, looking through the glass,Watching Washer Number Twelve make the memories pass.Thirty-four years old, heavy hood on my head,Staring at the tumbling remnants of the dead.Handmade quilt spinning round in the soap,Washing out the tragedy, looking for the rope.Grandma passed away, four days in the ground,Left a house of porcelain and silence so profound.Smelling like the cedar wood, lavender and oil,Ninety years of history woven in the soil.Phone keeps buzzing with the legal estate,Turning a giant of a woman to a signature date.I don't wanna answer, I don't wanna reply,Rather watch the flannel shirts spinning under the sky.Chorus: The Unbalanced Drum(The lap steel guitar screams with high, distorted emotional tension. The industrial stomps get heavier, sounding like a factory piston. The vocals shift to a haunting, layered country-rap chant.)Oh, the tub is hitting hard, it's an unbalanced load!Spinning like a stray tire down a dark gravel road!Hear the lap steel crying for the spirit that flew,While the didgeridoo vibrates the floorboards through!You can’t wash the grief out of a denim-patched seam,Waking up shivering from a beautiful dream!Verse 2: The Hidden Script(The industrial stomps slow down to a crawl. The lap steel guitar plays isolated, bending notes behind the lyrics. The didgeridoo rhythm tracks the pulse of the words.)The machine starts to slam, hitting metal on the frame,Thump, thump, thump, flashing amber on the name.Cycle shuts down, steam hits my face,Lavender and heat filling up the empty space.Reaching both arms in to drag out the weight,Water-logged cotton pulling down on my state.Fingers catch a loose thread right along the edge,Pull it to the fluorescent light sitting on the ledge.Stitched in the lining of a denim work square,Tiny white thread showing Grandma was there.Three words hidden where the shadows used to creep:“Keep moving forward,” through the valley so deep.A private little note that she left for her chest,Armor for the family when the winter hit the nest.Held the soaking fabric with the water on my shoes,The silence in the laundromat had nothing left to lose.Laid it in the backseat, turned the car heater high,Texted back my sister under November’s gray sky:"I got the paperwork. I'm coming to the door.Let's do this…