Pressure Veins

[Verse 1]
He stirs his Folgers with a bent house key
She’s tracing maps on the Formica sea
That eight A.M. light on a Sunday in June
Paints a perfect picture in a quiet room.

[Chorus]
They don’t feel the shift along the plates
Or the slow erosion of familiar shapes
Just two good people on a hairline seam
Caught up inside a metamorphic dream.

[Verse 2]
He touches her hand, a continental drift
A casual, ordinary, seismic gift
Says, “'Member that Sunday down at Possum Creek?”
Her silence grinds the memory down, week by week.

[Bridge]
A love like limestone, porous and so pale
Holding the shape of a forgotten trail.

[Chorus]
They don’t feel the shift along the plates
Or the slow erosion of familiar shapes
Just two good people on a hairline seam
Caught up inside a metamorphic dream.

[Outro]
The waitress pours a refill in his cup
And the fault line between them opens up.