Faded Legend

[Verse 1]
That red clay shard of the mug you broke on the porch rail
in the hurricane summer of 'oh-nine.
I keep it in a tin box marked with a faded initial,
a topographic survey of a new fault line.
The air went still, felt the pressure change in the room, and you said,
"It's just a thing," and you went to find the broom.

[Chorus]
We called it True North, a line drawn in good faith.
But the legend you wrote is a language I can't translate.
Every symbol was solace, every boundary was clear.
So why does your side of the map just… disappear?

[Verse 2]
That slow drive out to McClellanville, cicadas a saw-wave drone.
The cadence of your silence held a different gradient, I should have known.
I spent the whole damn year decoding your syntax for a pause,
too busy with the grammar to triangulate the cause.

[Chorus]
We called it True North, a line drawn in good faith.
But the legend you wrote is a language I can't translate.
Every symbol was solace, every boundary was clear.
So why does your side of the map just… disappear?

[Bridge]
The signal was always there, buried in the noise.
A low-frequency static underneath your voice.

[Outro]
Just a red clay shard…
and a cold isobar.