Contour Grin

[Verse 1]
The condensation on the Kaffebrenneriet glass
Draws a new contour map across her face.
Tuesday, ten-past-four, the slow hour passed.
She tastes the black brew, leaves the spoon in place.
And there it is—that old ancestral line,
The same deep fault that cut her mother's smile.

[Chorus]
(Second Vocalist, ethereal)
You wear your grandmother's grin.
A story told right on the skin.
You wear your grandmother's grin.
The shape of where you've always been.

[Verse 2]
The high, thin hiss from the chrome espresso steam.
She said, "I'm nothing like them, not at all."
But it’s the same North Sea colour in her dream-
drift stare, fixed on the rain-slicked paving stone outside the wall.

[Bridge]
(Lead Vocalist, close-mic whisper)
An atlas drawn you didn't get to choose.
The charted path you're always going to lose.

[Outro]
(Second Vocalist, fading)
The shape of where you've...
(Sound of a distant foghorn, ambient pad swells and holds)