Water Rite

[Verse 1]
The little brass mister from that shop on The Avenue.
It's 9 PM on a Tuesday, what else am I supposed to do?
The tap water feels cold on my hands, just a drop for the soil.
A little communion before my whole world starts to uncoil.

[Chorus]
This is my Sunday service, this is my only prayer.
Just watering the ghost that you left sitting there.
My Sunday service, a cathedral of dust.
My one true religion is this hopeless trust.

[Verse 2]
You said, "It needs indirect light," looking right through me then.
So I move the fiddle-leaf from the window, then move it back again.
My student loan statement's a prayer card taped to the fridge door.
I honestly don't know what I'm praying for anymore.

[Bridge]
My thumb on your contact photo, a halo around your face.
Just one more minute of holy, empty space before I press.

[Outro]
(Acoustic: only voice and a lonely Wurlitzer)
A new green leaf is starting to unfurl.
Maybe I'll do this all again next week.