Flywheel Scar

[Verse 1]
"That '89 F-150 out rustin' on the blocks,"
She says, flicking ash into a coffee cup.
"It's a two-ton ghost wearin' four flat shocks.
Don't you think, honey, that you've had enough?"

[Chorus]
You can't grind smooth a flywheel scar,
You can't just paint right over the proof.
It's the engine's memory of how things are,
It's the jagged, honest, spinning truth.

[Verse 2]
I run a greasy rag on the valve cover chrome,
Say, "This dent's from the winter he drove you home."
The vinyl on the bench seat is cracked clean through,
And every mile of pain on it leads back to you.

[Chorus]
You can't grind smooth a flywheel scar,
You can't just paint right over the proof.
It's the engine's memory of how things are,
It's the jagged, honest, spinning truth.

[Bridge]
She puts her hand on my arm, voice quiet and low,
"Keeping it here doesn't mean he won't go."
I look at the cracked spark plug wires in my hand,
"Is forgetting him the same as killing a man?"

[Outro]
A flywheel scar...
The spinning truth...