FINAL_WALKTHROUGH

[Verse 1]
Five-fifteen AM, the cold thermos on the passenger vinyl seat.
Sunrise glintin' off the Makita boxes and the cleat.
This is the final chapter, page torn from the binder, work order on the screen.
A small reminder of the load-bearing column I designed when I was lean.
Crew's in the Waffle House, tankin' up on coffee and on grease.
I'm sittin' here in the cab quiet, tryin' to manufacture peace.
The key to the lockbox still fits, the code is still your birthday.
They sent me the permit number for the tear-down on a Thursday.

[Chorus]
The schedule's tight, the sun's on the rise.
They're paying me my daily rate to sever all the copper lines.
The air still smells like cut grass and diesel from the street.
I see the first hairline split in the driveway concrete.

[Verse 2]
I remember framing out that window over the kitchen sink.
Your dad helped me hang the drywall, didn't even stop to think.
He said, "Measure twice, you only get to cut the one time, son."
We left a handprint in the garage slab back in 2021.
Now the Komatsu idles, hydraulic fluid whines.
Erasing all the blueprints, blurring all the property lines.
There's a kudzu vine already creepin' up the mailbox post.
Just another load-bearing ghost giving up its ghost.

[Chorus]
The schedule's tight, the sun's on the rise.
They're paying me to compromise the southern wall's integrity.
The air still smells like ozone, a storm about to break.
I see the spalling on the porch steps we were never gonna fix.

[Bridge]
"It needs more light," you said, that first October, right by here.
Felt the chill comin' through the glass, a different kind of fear.
My job is just to swing the arm, my job is to forget.
The invoice number's 8-3-1, haven't submitted it yet.

[Chorus]
The schedule's tight, the sun's on the rise.
They're paying me to excavate where all the bedrock lies.
The air just tastes like dust now, a demolition site daylight.
This whole damn subdivision's lost in the airport landing lights.

[Outro]
Engine turns over. Tuesday. 7 AM sharp.
Time to punch the clock.