Tallow & Grace

[Verse 1]
The tungsten bulb in your Anglepoise lamp
Paints a halo on the wall where the plaster's damp.
It's been months of silence, a gearbox seized with rust,
Two sets of hands collecting anvil dust.
Now your thumb finds the rivet of my spine,
And the unspoken unwinds down the line.

[Chorus]
This ain't love, Leo, it's a catechism,
My body learnin' your body's rhythm.
A laying-on of hands, some Tallow and Grace,
My only prayer is the shape of your face.

[Verse 2]
Three forty-five on a Tuesday, the world is still.
The forge is quiet on the Wicker hill.
'It's pissing it down again,' you said so low,
And your hand on my hip was the only amen I know.
The window pane weeps with the River Don's grey,
But in here, every fracture melts away.

[Spoken Interlude]
(Distant, crackly male voice, like a memory)
"You gotta know when to apply the heat, and when to just let it cool slow... that's the art of it, see?"

[Chorus]
This ain't love, Leo, it's a catechism,
My body learnin' your body's rhythm.
A laying-on of hands, some Tallow and Grace,
My only prayer is the shape of your face.

[Bridge]
(Music strips back to a single, finger-picked acoustic guitar)
Calloused fingers tracing your jaw's shear line,
For the first time since that winter of '09,
I feel the old stresses ease, the hairline faults mend.

[Outro]
Just the sound of your breathing at the end,
And the South Yorkshire rain on the steel again.