INDUSTRY

[Verse] The punch clock swallows the morning light Ink stains on a sleeve of weary white Files stack like gravestones on a wooden plain A steady drip of minutes down a rusted drain The kettle whistles a sharp and lonely tune Under the pale glare of a fluorescent noon [Verse] A spreadsheet spans the distance to the edge Of every broken vow and hollow pledge Counting pennies while the marrow starts to fade The ritual of habit in a dull parade Dust settles on the ledge of things undone Shadows stretching long toward a hidden sun [Chorus] Cold iron gears grinding against the bone Bread earned in silence and eaten alone But the soil is patient and the sky is deep A promise that the weary soul will keep Beyond the ledger and the heavy door Where time is not a currency anymore [Verse] Matches strike and flicker then they die Another Monday mirrored in a tired eye Chasing the ghost of a paycheck through the mud The taste of copper and the pulse of blood Even the hammer knows the anvil's weight Small talk stalling at the garden gate [Pre-Chorus] The coffee turns to silt within the cup The heavy math of simply waking up The suit is just a shroud with silver buttons For the masters and the beggars and the gluttons [Chorus] Cold iron gears grinding against the bone Bread earned in silence and eaten alone But the soil is patient and the sky is deep A promise that the weary soul will keep Beyond the words of master their despair no salvatude