A Slow Sullen Hum

[Verse 1]
The vinyl chair at the Beaufort County annex is tackey from the heat.
Third Tuesday in November, Miss Evelyn taps her feet.
The clerk announces the final vote, his voice like un-risen dough,
A number lands that says she's won, but there's no righteous glow.

[Chorus]
And the victory song's a slow, sullen hum,
A meat-grinder handshake 'til your fingers go numb.
They serve you the prize, but the sweetness is gone,
Just the salt of the work when the work is all done.

[Verse 2]
She boiled the coffee bitter-black for meetings in the rain,
Rendered down the arguments to get down past the pain.
Heard her own name whispered, curdled on a neighbor's tongue,
"'Da woman think she own da place,' from someone half as young."

[Chorus]
And the victory song's a slow, sullen hum,
A meat-grinder handshake 'til your fingers go numb.
They serve you the prize, but the sweetness is gone,
Just the salt of the work when the work is all done.

[Bridge]
It’s a bitter reduction, this thing they all made,
This thin, cloudy broth for the price that she paid.

[Outro]
The salt of the work.
The salt when it’s done.