Your Flour Hand

[Chorus]
You try to weave the water back into the grain
But the salt has its own memory of the rain

[Verse 1]
The recipe is scrawled on a ferry schedule from '89
Your grandmother's cursive, a tangled ball of twine
The paper is thin as a moth's wing, the ink smells of chalk and brine
It just says to add the water, a single faded line

[Pre-Chorus]
And you work the dough on the cold slate sill
As the Ryde pier sighs and the gulls cry shrill
And you tell yourself it's just a simple skill
You tell yourself this feeling can't be killed

[Chorus]
You try to weave the water back into the grain
But the salt has its own memory of the rain

[Verse 2]
They're building glass homes where the crab apple trees grew
And the tourists ask for directions to a place they never knew
She'd say, "The land remembers, son, more than me or you"
And now the seams of this whole coastline are coming unglued

[Pre-Chorus]
And you work the dough on the cold slate sill
As the Ryde pier sighs and the gulls cry shrill
And you tell yourself it's just a simple skill
You tell yourself this feeling can't be killed

[Chorus]
You try to weave the water back into the grain
But the salt has its own memory of the rain

[Bridge]
Maybe it's not the bread you're trying to save
It's the shape of her hand, that one flour-dusted wave

[Outro]
The kitchen is quiet
The dough doesn't rise