Wire Mother

[Verse 1]
Anya winds a string of copper utility wire
'round a rebar column sweating with the Freedom Tunnel mire.
Her lamp is a Folgers can, the wick is a shoelace thread,
fed by the rendered fat of something long since dead.
The eviction notice is posted for the dawn, printed bold and red.

[Chorus]
And they'll call it compassion, they'll call it a plan,
with a key for a shelter that was never in your hand.
They don't see the kingdom built from urban rust.
They just see the nuisance, you just see the dust.

[Verse 2]
Her door is a sheet of rust with a painted-on lock.
She sets a milk crate table by a chunk of granite rock.
She warms a can of chili on a low-watt stolen hum,
and whispers to the static, "Look what we've become."
It's the last Tuesday supper before the bulldozers come.

[Chorus]
And they'll call it compassion, they'll call it a plan,
with a key for a shelter that was never in your hand.
They don't see the kingdom built from urban rust.
They just see the nuisance, you just see the dust.

[Bridge]
Just the scrape of a boot heel on the concrete floor.
Just the distant metal shriek of the A-train car.
Just the city breathing in, just the city breathing out.
A city that you live beneath, that doesn't know a thing about you.

[Outro]
Tomorrow they'll erase the map you drew.
Wire mother, what will become of you?