Threaded Breath

Pierce City rain on a rusted out hood I'm turning my survival

into something that's good 396 in the 'u',

the dirt road is long Matilde says the healing is a heavy,

quiet song I got small-town pain in a digital world Watching all

the neon flags get unfurled But I'm just sitting here with a

wooden guitar Trying to find out exactly who we are

528 in the 'a',

my voice is getting thin

I don't need a stadium,

I just need to win

Against the ghost in my head,

against the static in the wire

I'm striking a match just to look at the fire

Lucir, I shine, through the cracks in the wood

Bulletproof autonomy, misunderstood but good

100%

Tiguidou, let the sub-bass drop low

Ghost in the Pink,

got nowhere else to go

I'm a wounded little acoustic,

but the rhythm is deep

Turning all this survival into promises I keep

Executive Quinn says "Tara,

leave the mistakes in the track"

The way my finger slips on the E-string,

the way my shoulders slack

That's the honest magic,

that's the accidental art

You can't fake the way a heavy sub-bass hits a broken heart

Shala-la in the pines,

ti-ki-ti in the dust

In the Ozark of my