CICADA SHELL

[Verse 1]
Mona’s laugh off the brick wall behind the Black Cat in June.
Air thick with metro exhaust, the whole city out of tune.
A shared bottle of water, condensation on a hot-as-hell wrist,
two wasps in a paper nest, a loyalty that couldn't untwist.
Heard some suit whisper, "Them two, they move just like a weapon,"
a single shadow with four legs the pavement lights were steppin' on.
Used to map the future out in bottle caps on sticky wood,
a whole damn world understood, inside that neighborhood.

[Chorus]
Left the husk on the porch screen, a brittle set of wings.
A cicada shell clicking underfoot, the hollow way it sings.
Left the sound under the soil, a promise seventeen years deep.
A cicada shell clicking on the curb, a secret it can't keep.

[Verse 2]
Now the posture's different, spine held straight for K Street air.
A new mouth full of old words, a practiced, vacant stare.
Surrounded by the barflies, the ones with donor-level thirst,
that parasitic kindness, rehearsed and re-rehearsed.
The gaze just slides right over, a face behind the draft beer taps,
another pair of tired hands closing up the revenue gaps.
The sound of that new laughter is a frequency that burns,
a lesson this whole city learns and never unlearns.

[Outro]
Just another empty glass to wipe.
Just another brittle wing type.