Standard Deviation

[Verse 1]
The marble's cold on Poydras Street, November at the clerk's domain.
Smells like ammonia and quiet pride, a curated, civic rain.
I'm writing this to you, Mom, on the back of form three-oh-four.
You always said the straightest lines are the ones worth fighting for.

[Chorus]
This is the standard deviation,
a lacquer finish on the strain.
A beautiful, flawed equation
that holds its structure in the rain.

[Verse 2]
A man in a tight blue blazer points where I'm supposed to be.
Says, "Ma'am, your file is incomplete," and never looks at me.
It's just a stress-fracture Tuesday, the kind you used to know so well.
The air-con hums a low G-flat, a single, sustained, holding cell.

[Spoken Word Interlude]
(Low in the mix, a flat, bureaucratic male voice)
"…to bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely…"

[Bridge]
You'd see the hairline seam in all this granite grace.
You'd find the gold to mend the empty space.

[Outro]
The flag folds clean. A new name on the wall.
It's getting late. I'll make the call.