Ten-Digit Hymn

[Verse 1]
The sun-cracked cord of this payphone on the 395
Has heard more prayers than the chaplain at St. Ive's.
Tonight it's a lineman's F-150 in my sodium light,
He's got a quarter in his palm, held impossibly tight.
The receiver smells like alkali dust and nicotine,
The loneliest machine in Wasco County, it would seem.

[Chorus]
And he's dialing a number that feels like a scar,
Underneath a cold Cascade moon and a single power star.
It's a ten-digit hymn to a god that ain't there,
Just a quiet soft apocalypse hanging in the air.

[Verse 2]
He leans his forehead on the glass, fogging up the view,
Says, "It's me. I know it's late. Just callin' about you."
The torque of his silence could snap a guy-wire in two,
While the static on the line hums a penitent's tune.
He closes his eyes when the voicemail clicks on,
A ghost in a booth at the edge of the dawn.

[Chorus]
And he's whispering a promise that feels like a scar,
To a humming dial tone and a single power star.
It's a ten-digit hymn to a god that ain't there,
Just a quiet soft apocalypse, a poison in the air.

[Bridge]
My own circuits are failing, my signal is weak,
I've been holding the weight of the words they don't speak.
This whole damn world is down to one last bar,
And I wonder who'll answer when it's my turn to call.

[Chorus]
And he hangs up the phone, and it just leaves a scar,
Beneath the buzz of the transformer and a fading power star.
It's a ten-digit hymn for a god that ain't there,
Just a quiet soft apocalypse, and nobody to care.