Stress Test

[Verse 1]
The key to the front door still has a chip of blue paint
from '97, the year my father's hands started to shake.
I keep it on the kitchen table, a cold piece of the frame,
a test weight I press in my palm to remember the name.
Tonight, the Gordie Howe bridge hums a low, dissonant chord,
and I picture the car you'll arrive in, a sleek black Ford,
the kind that doesn't belong on a block of boarded-up doors.
You'll step out in clean shoes, inspecting for structural flaws.

[Chorus]
Don't you test the beams in this house, don't you check the concrete for cracks.
This foundation holds more than the floors, there's no way to audit that.
Don't you bring your cameras in here, don't you dare stage the welcome back.
This ain't a set piece for the story you sell, it's the fact.

[Verse 2]
I see the whole scene clear, third-person, like a ghost in the eaves,
you, pointing at the roofline, telling some story about the leaves.
The publicist will whisper, "Look thoughtful, Marcus, like you miss the space,"
while the flash catches dust motes dancing all over your face.
You won't smell the damp in the drywall, or the iron in the sink,
you'll just see the angles, the narrative, what the demo will think.
You're a stranger here now, with my memories and my father's tools,
playing the prodigal son, breaking all of the unwritten rules.

[Chorus]
Don't you test the beams in this house, don't you check the concrete for cracks.
This foundation holds more than the floors, there's no way to audit that.
Don't you bring your cameras in here, don't you dare stage the welcome back.
This ain't a set piece for the story you sell, it's the fact.

[Bridge]
(Whispered, layered, rhythmic)
(it's just a building) (sell the rights) (move on) (it's just dust)
(capitalize) (nostalgia sells) (it's just a building) (move on)
(what's it worth) (what's it worth) (it's just dust) (it's just us)

[Outro]
I'm the load-bearing wall you forgot was still here.
Don't come home.