An Honest Coil

[Verse 1]
Listen, I’m standing on Market Street, it’s just past five.
The air’s all tackey with the sweet lie they’re selling inside.
Saw it through the window, propped up on some linen cloth,
A basket with my Grandma’s pattern, but the soul is lost.

[Chorus]
This ain't the kinda hurt that fades, this is a righteous fire.
They're selling off the salt in us, and callin' us the liar.
This is for the hands that bled to make an honest coil.
This is for the roots they pave over with their stolen soil.

[Verse 2]
Listen, the weave is all wrong, the bullrush is too bright.
"It's authentic enough," he says, under the track light.
He don't know the ache in the back, the song you gotta hum
To keep the coil from breaking 'fore the work is done.

[Chorus]
This ain't the kinda hurt that fades, this is a righteous fire.
They're selling off the salt in us, and callin' us the liar.
This is for the hands that bled to make an honest coil.
This is for the roots they pave over with their stolen soil.

[Bridge]
It’s the same voice from that Boston room, all clean and paper-thin,
Trying to sand the Lowcountry down, to tell me where I begin.
But I begin in pluff mud, I begin in the summer rain…

[Outro]
...anyway. I just had to tell someone who'd know.