BLACKENED HALO

[Verse 1]
The ten-inch Lodge skillet on a cold induction top.
Carbon-steel soul that my grandma let me watch.
Seasoned so black you couldn't see the bottom drop,
a million ghosts of meals, a million Sundays on the dot.
I trace the handle's rust, a low-voltage memory loop,
the smell of chicory coffee, the steam off a roux.
She kept the circuit perfect, kept the current running through,
and every scar on its surface is a testament and proof.

[Chorus]
That black pan ain't metal, that's a blackened halo.
My only confession, my sacred ground.
I came from that fire, I know what they don't know.
That black pan ain't metal, that's a blackened halo.

[Verse 2]
She said, "Son, you don't wash this, you just wipe it clean."
A Gary winter lesson back when I was seventeen.
Some things you carry with you, you don't let nobody see,
the residue of heat, the person that you used to be.
I hear the scrape of spatulas on nights I can't connect,
the city hums a frequency of failure and neglect.
I put my hand against the iron, waiting for effect,
a phantom charge of lineage I'm sworn to go protect.

[Chorus]
That black pan ain't metal, that's a blackened halo.
My only confession, my sacred ground.
I came from that fire, I know what they don't know.
That black pan ain't metal, that's a blackened halo.

[Bridge]
They see the billboard picture on the I-65 bend,
don't see the calloused logic that the iron recommends.
Some bonds are forged in pressure that'll never break or end,
this thing is heavier than any check I'll ever spend.

[Outro]
Yeah. Heavier than any check I'll ever spend.
Just wipe it clean.