PLUMB BOB

[Verse 1]
The GE fridge hums a low G-sharp, Tuesday, 9:04 PM, right on the mark.
We hold the brass weight to the new doorframe, check the plumb again in the dark.
The MARTA train shakes the window pane, a tremor in the rebar in my arm.
Sound gets tight, pulled from the street noise, safe from the coming harm.
My boy squints, he knows the physics, seen it every week since he was five.
He holds his breath, just like I taught him, checking if the structure's still alive.
'Is it straight this time?' he asks me, quiet as the ozone from the bug light.
I check the gap, the hairline variance, the shadow shifting in the night.

[Chorus]
Drop the line, check the level.
Same old ghost, same new devil.
Drop the line, feel the tension.
Same old flawed first dimension.

[Verse 2]
Your granddad's blueprint was a blank page, just a coffee ring on a napkin edge.
He built with silence and drywall dust, left me standing on a concrete ledge.
So we check the string, we check the bias, looking for the stress his absence left.
This whole damn house is a forensics kit, a diagram of quiet theft.
We measure sag, we calculate the shear-stress, looking for the narrative collapse.
This ain't a home, it's a hypothesis, a series of potential traps.
I'm teaching you to spot the spalling, see the failure point before the fall.
How to tell when a load-bearing promise is just a mural on a wall.

[Chorus]
Drop the line, check the level.
Same old ghost, same new devil.
Drop the line, feel the tension.
Same old flawed first dimension.

[Bridge]
Fourth wife said, "You measure everything to death.
Can't you just live in it?" I just held my breath.
The crack in the screen of my phone was a map of the city grid.
Showing all the streets we never did.

[Outro]
The fridge hums a G-sharp, a low, constant drone.
We're checking the plumb line, perfectly alone.