Tripod Grace

[Verse 1]
The cattails at Tifft stood ten-feet high
back in the summer of ninety-nine.
We saw the ghost on the service road,
a flicker of white, a heavier load
on three good legs. The iron-smell of the creek bed mud
was the only proof we had of blood.

[Chorus]
And I still see it in the feedback hum,
the tripod grace when the morning comes.
A three-legged waltz on a bed of slag,
the best new nerve a body can drag.

[Verse 2]
I walked that trail just yesterday,
to see what kind of debt I'd have to pay.
The sky was a bruised and hammered sheet,
the air was thick with malted wheat.
My father said, "Son, some things just find a way,"
a phantom limb that aches all day.

[Chorus]
And I still see it in the feedback hum,
the tripod grace when the morning comes.
A three-legged waltz on a bed of slag,
the best new nerve a body can drag.

[Bridge]
(Key change up)
Is this the part where the scar tissue shines?
Rewriting the map on the palatine lines?

[Outro]
A flicker of white in the failing light,
still running.