The Ticker Tape Lie

[Verse 1]
The Cutty Sark in his glass sweats on the bar.
A humid July evening, seventy-four.
She traces the route with a single red nail,
Past the hum of the air-con, a low and worried gear.

[Chorus]
They're drawing lines on a bar-napkin map,
A little quiet treason, a well-designed trap.
Just a whisper of torque and the tumblers will fall,
Two gears in the chaos, escaping it all.

[Verse 2]
A pack of Pall Malls, half-gone on the wood.
The Senate staff pin, misunderstood.
Two cocktail napkins, folded and damp.
A road atlas open beneath the low lamp.

[Chorus]
They're drawing lines on a bar-napkin map,
A little quiet treason, a well-designed trap.
Just a whisper of torque and the tumblers will fall,
Two gears in the chaos, escaping it all.

[Bridge]
The whole damn town's a mainspring wound too tight,
Waiting for the click in the long summer night.
"Key West," she whispers, "We'll learn to fix the boats."
While the ticker tape sputters out its final, brittle notes.

[Chorus]
They're drawing lines on a bar-napkin map,
(Countermelody: The salt on the air...)
A little quiet treason, a well-designed trap.
(Countermelody: ...a brand new machine...)
Just a whisper of torque and the tumblers will fall,
(Countermelody: ...won't care where you've been.)
Two gears in the chaos, escaping it all.
(Countermelody: A clean new start...)

[Outro]
The ice makes a sound like a tiny, cracked bell.
A blueprint for leaving this well-lighted hell.