You pack the lens that caught the bus-light glare
Your thumb prints smudge the glass to prove you were there
The hangar hums a low and patient tone
This compass spins but refuses to go home
Silver needle points to nothing known
You trace the rim with fingers chilled to bone
The stars outside don't care where you've been
But this small disk still sings your origin
You snapped the dawn through cracked windshield glass
Each frame a life you didn't let pass
Now artificial gravity holds its breath
You measure distance against the death
Silver needle points to nothing known
You trace the rim with fingers chilled to bone
The stars outside don't care where you've been
But this small disk still sings your origin
The cello weeps where banjo stakes the floor
Your boots still dust from prairie roads before
The compass face catches fluorescent white
You speak coordinates into the night
Silver needle points to nothing known
You trace the rim with fingers chilled to bone
The stars outside don't care where you've been
But this small disk still sings your origin
Group voices rise like solar flare and flame
They shout the hook and call you by your name
The needle steadies, locks on magnetic north
You finally see what all this waiting's worth
Silver needle points to nothing known
You trace the rim with fingers chilled to bone
The stars outside don't care where you've been
But this small disk still sings your origin
Now lift it high and let the hangar ring
Compass rests in calloused palm at last
Orbit holds the future, not the past
