True North Joint

[Verse 1]
The Hollis Street post office is holding its breath.
We’re lined up like end-grain, showing the years and the stress.
Oh, Dominion, you draftsman, your blueprints are frayed—
All these odd-angled pieces you somehow have made.
We don't fit the jig, but we're standing in line.

[Chorus]
You measure twice, you cut once, and it's still the wrong size.
The ghost of a dovetail behind someone's eyes.
It doesn't fit, it never will, and nobody's surprised.

[Verse 2]
The third Tuesday in November, the heat makes a hum.
The security guard's phone is pressed to his thumb.
He looks up and says, "Form's on the wrong side, my friend."
(Dry Vocal) My spine is a shim I can't possibly bend.
The air smells of wet wool and bureaucratic defeat.

[Chorus]
You measure twice, you cut once, and it's still the wrong size.
The ghost of a dovetail behind someone's eyes.
It doesn't fit, it never will, and nobody's surprised.

[Bridge]
But the salt-stained window is splitting the light,
Turning the dust in the air impossibly bright.
Like a new-planed surface, a secret revealed.

[Outro]
It doesn't fit.
It never will...