Cold Start

[the pulse alone: triplet kick like a starter motor, no melody, no guitar]

Turn it over

Turn it over

Cold in the morning, cold in the hands

Nothing in the tank but the air and a plan

Everything I carried is back down the road

And I'm not going back for it

Turn it over, hear it strain

Hear it not catch

Hear it not catch

Hear it not catch — and again

[ALL, unison, stomping, no harmony]

It doesn't start warm

Nothing ever starts warm

You turn it in the cold

Or you don't turn it at all

I spent a long time holding something up

That nobody was living in

Now the ground is flat and empty and it's mine

And it's cold, and it's mine

Nobody hands it over

Nobody turns the key

You put your shoulder in the dark

And you count to three

[ALL]

It doesn't start warm

Nothing ever starts warm

You turn it in the cold

Or you don't turn it at all

[everything drops for two bars, then lands together on the downbeat]

One turn, two turn —

Something in it caught

It isn't warm, it isn't kind

But it's running, and it's mine

[ALL, fullest, guitars finally following the kick]

It doesn't start warm

Nothing ever starts warm

You turn it in the cold

Or you don't turn it at all

So turn it in the cold

Turn it in the cold

Turn it in the cold

Or you don't turn it at all

[the pulse alone, running steady now, then a hard cut mid-phrase]

Cold. Running.

Cold. Running.

Cold —