[Intro]
(Instrumental)

[Verse 1]
The hum is a hymn from a tired machine A sermon in plumbing, obscenely serene My cheek finds the porcelain, blessedly cold A story in water stains, centuries old The geometry of tile, a catekism grid Where all of the noise of my nervous system is hid And the light through the frosted glass baptizes the dust In a covenant made of inertia and trust

[Chorus 1]
And oh, it’s a strange kind of holy, this peace that I’ve found Lying here listening to nothing, the loneliest sound There’s a truth in the pressure of cold on the bone The one place I’m perfectly, terribly known Is here on the floor

[Verse 2]
There are ghosts in the condensation, writing their names On the mirror I’m trying so hard not to blame A muffled percussion conducts through the door The life I’ve been living right before the before The drip from the faucet’s a metronome’s beat For a song of surrender and graceful defeat And my pulse is a frantic and dissonant guest In this temple of quiet, this fortress of rest

[Chorus 2]
And oh, it’s a strange kind of holy, this peace that I’ve bought With the currency of every battle I’ve fought There’s a truth in the pressure of cold on the skin But what if this quiet’s just the shape of the hole I’m in? Here on the floor

And I promised myself I would learn how to stand With my spine like a pillar, the world in my hand Not an invertebrate prophet of linoleum tile Who can deconstruct grace but can’t fake a damn smile! I’ve diagnosed every symptom, I’ve charted the ache For Christ’s holy sake, what’s it going to take? To be more than a body that’s blocking a drain? Just a sad, sorry monument, worshipping rain!

[Chorus 3]
AND OH, IT’S A STRANGE KIND OF HORROR, THIS HELL THAT I’VE FOUND MAKING ANGELS IN DUST ON THIS UNHOLY GROUND THERE’S A TRUTH IN THE ECHO MY OWN SCREAMING MAKES AND I’LL LIE HERE AND BREAK TILL THERE’S NOTHING THAT BREAKS ANYMORE ON THE FLOOR!

[Outro]

Well. That’s that, then.