What Hands Remain

[Verse 1]
The Stanage grit is cold beneath our palms, a grey and patient ache.
We set the capstones in the last October light for goodness sake.
The wind up on the clough-top whispers through the gorse and broken slate,
A language that we almost understand, a decade-or-so too late.

[Chorus]
And oh, the ghosts we're building for,
Are sleeping in the stone's deep core.
We raise a wall against the coming quiet,
A line of chalk across the moor.

[Verse 2]
They taught us how to read the grain, to find the one true face.
To build a life from shattered things, to give each fracture grace.
But the quarry's breathing shallow now, a slow and dusty sigh,
And there's no one left to ask if we have set the courses high.

[Spoken Word Interlude]
(An older, Derbyshire voice, like a field recording, faint crackle)
"You don't build it to keep folk out. Never that. You build it to show the shape of the land. That's the truth of it. The heart of the wall is the bit you'll never see..."

[Chorus]
And oh, the ghosts we're building for,
Are sleeping in the stone's deep core.
We raise a wall against the coming quiet,
A line of chalk across the moor.

[Bridge]
And the mizzle tastes of metal, tastes of everything we'll lose,
The slow erosion of the bone, the colour of a bruise.

[Outro]
A final tap, the sound of done.
And then there's only setting sun.