Crown Gall

[Verse 1]
That Phalaenopsis orchid on your Grosse Pointe sill
Tuesday at ten, it holds perfectly still.
The air in here's expensive, smells of ozone and doubt.
I test the soil moisture, map the dry rot out.
Your wedding photo's gathering a fine coat of dust;
I'm just the guy you pay to know who not to trust.

[Chorus]
Don't mind me, I'm checking moisture levels,
Polishing the dust from off the bevels.
I prune the dead leaves back, I'm just doing my job.
Trying to keep the peace between the bloom and the blight's quiet rob.

[Verse 2]
Heard you through the laundry room, your voice a clean, sharp line.
"You can't just buy forgiveness with a hundred-dollar wine."
He brought you pale hydrangeas, they're already starting to fade.
A perfect, thirsty metaphor for a promise badly made.
There's a sickness in the root stock, a darkness in the feed.
I see the same damn hunger, the same invasive weed.

[Chorus]
Don't mind me, I'm checking moisture levels,
Polishing the dust from off the bevels.
I prune the dead leaves back, I'm just doing my job.
Trying to keep the peace between the bloom and the blight's quiet rob.

[Bridge]
(Rhythmic breakdown: deep afro-house kick, finger snaps, and a growing crowd of Marvin's layered whispers)
(whispers: new soil… she needs new soil… cut him off… cut him off at the root… that rot goes deep… just water the damn plants… just do your job… it’s not your house…)
Just a ghost in your greenhouse.
A witness for the vine.

[Outro]
I pocketed the spare key you left under the stone.
Some roots just have to be dug out alone.