Unseen Hem

[Verse 1]
Your cashmere coat on the chair in Mayfair still holds the Tuesday rain.
You smooth the linen on the table, I pour the Burgundy again.
Your hands have never known the chafe of a polyester seam.
I am the ghost that clears the plates inside your waking dream.

[Pre-Chorus]
And the polish on the floor smells like money I won't make.
The low hum of the air-con is the only breath I take.

[Chorus]
When you look right through my hands, do you ever see the thread?
Is there a cost for all this comfort living in your head?

[Verse 2]
The last train on the Northern Line smells of wet wool and fatigue.
You said, "Just the one, thanks," like a line from a forgotten league.
My mother's fingers, quick with needle, taught me how to mend.
But there's no way to stitch the distance from your world to my end.

[Pre-Chorus]
And the heat from the kitchen vent is a language I know well.
A different kind of warmth from the stories that you tell.

[Chorus]
When you look right through my hands, do you ever see the thread?
Is there a cost for all this comfort living in your head?

[Bridge]
I am the unseen hem that stops your perfect life from fraying.
The quiet, steady rhythm underneath the words you're saying.

[Outro]
I clock out at eleven. You are calling for the bill.
(Unresolved chord sustains and fades slowly to silence)