The reservoir is a bowl of yesterday. Braced uphill. Holding a patience shaped like force. It doesn't pray. It waits with math. The reservoir is a bowl of tomorrow. Toll rolling downhill. Releasing impatience cut like a field. It always prays. But starts without faith. (Chorus) I don’t part the seas. I reed the lean. Stand where the pressure holds. Not beyond. At the held lines. Hands learn before speech comes. Skin sinks before all the numbers. Touch the pipes. Feel the grammar of the iron. (Verse 2) The thrum is civic and low. The city sleeps. Water speaks outside the streams. Steel swells back and forth and weakens —a synapse breath. The system does not rage in quiet It maintains loudly. The system does not strain in silence It maintains the sounds. (Verse 3) Heat writes a signature. Seals soften their promises. Symptoms of logic seep. At a certain saturation, the structure loosens. Measure the distances between leaks. Not wisdom—spacing. Truth is not revealed. It responds. (Chorus) I don’t part the scenes. I reed the leaves. Try and stand where the pressure holds. Not beyond. At the freed points. Hands learn the song as speech comes. Skin sinks beneath all the numbers. Touch the pipes. Fear the grammar of the iron. (Bridge) Approach. Listen for the tone. Withdraw intact. No blessing follows. No scar required. Only the gauge— Flat. Unblinking. Correct. (Outro) If it moves, it matters. If it answers, I adjust. Relearning the edge. Not to master the water, But to keep the banks honest. Exactly what the level says. (Outro) If it moves, it matters. If it answers, I adjust. Relearning the edge. Not to master the water, But to keep the banks honest. Exactly what the level says.
