Cold Porcelain

[Verse 1]
The porcelain's cold under my back, a Thursday night in June.
Hear that foghorn moaning low past the cranes on Terminal Island.
Steam is tracing fault lines on the mirror's silver film,
and the drip from the faucet's counting every quiet hour we've killed.

[Chorus]
We lost the shear wall, honey.
Just hydrostatic pressure now.
Every unspoken word's a hairline fracture
leaking through the ground.

[Verse 2]
Remember you said, "You treat our good times like a seismic test"?
I was just mapping weak points in our cantilevered trust.
Turns out your promises were the only load-bearing thing,
and I feel the torsion now in how the silence sings.

[Bridge]
This water's getting colder.
The whole damn blueprint's got to be retold.

[Outro]
Just the sound of the drain,
and the 710 traffic whispering in the rain.