Built from the Fall

Ooh, ooh, ooh. Morning hits hard on a Tuesday

train. Same old city, same old stain. You count your loss like unpaid

rent. Adding up the years you never meant. Your coffee's cold,

your faith is thin. Phone full of people, none of them

ring. You've seen doors close with your hand still there. You've learned how

silence can out-shout prayer. You wear that doubt like a second skin.

Smile on your mouth, storm on your chin. You whisper,

"Maybe this is all I am". But there's a pulse in you that says,