Pressure System

[Verse 1]
The condensation on your glass draws a coastline of James Island.
I'm mapping out the resonant frequency of your silence.
Last Tuesday, just past ten, the rain came down in sheets.
You ask me what I'm thinking, tracing patterns on the vinyl seat.
My own voice sounds like a broadcast from a distant, failing station.
A poor attempt at signal over static hesitation.

[Chorus]
I just nod and trace the map, a pressure system moving in.
Said it's nothing, just the weather on my skin.
The isobars are tightening, a truth without a name.
It's nothing, man. Just the coming of the rain.

[Verse 2]
Under the awning at The Royal American, the light was amber-blue.
The signal was corrupted but the carrier came through.
Her syntax with that stranger had a cadence I had learned.
A private language spoken, a meridian point unearned.
You said, "You've been quiet since Savannah," and you force a brother's grin.
I'm just listening for the noise to find the message hidden in.

[Chorus]
I just nod and trace the map, a pressure system moving in.
Said it's nothing, just the weather on my skin.
The isobars are tightening, a truth without a name.
It's nothing, man. Just the coming of the rain.

[Bridge]
True north is just a theory when the needle starts to spin.
And every degree of variance is a reckoning within.
Do I recalibrate the legend? Do I redact the final line?

[Outro]
It's nothing, just the weather.
A pressure system moving in.