Crooked Mercy

[Verse 1]
Hickory loom he shipped from Accra, it’s 5 AM in February.
The heat pipes hiss a rhythm that the warp threads try to carry.
My hands are cold around the shuttle, know the path they're gonna trace
Before the sun can find the window, find the failure on my face.

[Pre-Chorus]
And I can hear him on the phone call, static buzzing from the coast,
"The tension has to sing the name of what you love the most."

[Chorus]
But this ain't a prayer my fingers know,
Just a crooked mercy in the throwing.
Pull the thread until it frays,
And weave it wrong a thousand ways.

[Verse 2]
The Twi for 'patience' catches in the back of my throat.
He sent a diagram on paper folded in my winter coat.
It looks just like the A-train map, a language I can read,
But this silk feels like a stranger, planting some forbidden seed.

[Pre-Chorus]
And I can hear him on the phone call, static buzzing from the coast,
"The tension has to sing the name of what you love the most."

[Chorus]
But this ain't a prayer my fingers know,
Just a crooked mercy in the throwing.
Pull the thread until it frays,
And weave it wrong a thousand ways.

[Bridge]
Maybe this grief is not a garment I was ever meant to wear.
Maybe this pattern isn't his, it's just my name I'm weaving there.

[Chorus]
And this is a prayer my fingers know,
It's a crooked mercy in the throwing.
Let the colors bleed and fray,
I'll weave it wrong my own damn way.

[Outro]
My own damn way.
Yeah, the shuttle's singing now.