Low Gear Whine

[Verse 1]
The bag of B-Mix clay split on the floor,
it was past two on a Wednesday, maybe more.
The concrete bites right through my worn-out socks,
a different kind of cold than the loading docks.
I trace the pale gray smear left by the mop.

[Chorus]
Just the low gear whine
(Keeps spinning, keeps spinning)
Your ghost in the dust motes
(Still living, still living)

[Verse 2]
Your voice is in the ringing in my ears,
some frequency I haven't tuned in years.
"Don't you track it all through the house," you said.
Still smell the wet earth, the ozone from the kiln's red.
Wiped a gray thumbprint clean off the door sill.

[Chorus]
Just the low gear whine
(Keeps spinning, keeps spinning)
Your ghost in the dust motes
(Still living, still living)

[Bridge]
This silence is a voltage, a current I can't break.
I'm burning the whole clutch out for memory's sake.

[Outro]
Low gear whine...
(Keeps spinning...)