Lyrics

[Intro – CALEB, muttering into his notebook, now stitched together with dental floss]
CALEB:
Forks still pray.
Salt still speaks.
Frank brought a fish that won’t stop blinking.
Christina’s floating sideways. Again.
And Matt?
Matt’s just… watching it all like he’s been here before.

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[Verse 1 – FRANK, holding a bucket of moonlight and bass]
FRANK:
I caught a fish that quoted Shakespeare.
Then asked for cornbread and vanished near the root beer.
The hushpuppies levitated last week—
Sang gospel. Harmonized in B-flat creek.

Christina’s aura fried my eels.
One slapped me. The other made a deal.
This ain’t a kitchen. It’s memory stew.
And the jelly’s been whisperin’ about you.

⸻

[Verse 2 – CHRISTINA, hair wild, voice upside-down]
CHRISTINA:
I’m a whirlin’ girl in a gravity slip,
Wrote my name on a biscuit, gave the world a tip:
“Don’t trust the tea—it remembers your sins.”
Then I flossed with lightning and taught spoons to spin.

I once married a napkin. Twice.
We divorced. I kept the rice.
I float ’cause the ground gets bored of me.
And I hear the pie talk. Don’t judge—I’m free.

⸻

[Hook – GROUP, hushed at first, then spiraling into chant]
🎵 There’s a reason the door swings twice.
Once for entry. Once for price.
You don’t just come in—you’re let in, son.
And when you leave?
You’re never really done.
Tuesday ain’t a loop. It’s a bite that stays.
In the marrow, in the forks, in the side-eyed glaze.
And Christina?
She’s the smoke in the beans—
The crack in the plate where the biscuit dreams. 🎵

⸻

[Verse 3 – MATT, calmly sipping something that steams sideways]
MATT:
I been sittin’ here three years or three seconds.
Not sure. But I reckon.
I seen the slaw preach. The rolls cry shame.
And Christina levitate through a chess game.

Frank knows fish. Caleb sees math.
I just wait on Ms. Mae’s wrath.
‘Cause Tuesday don’t warn. Tuesday don’t blink.
It just happens. Like thought. Or sink.

⸻

[Verse 4 – CALEB, standing on a booth with chalk dust in his beard]
CALEB:
Every time I chart this place, it charts me back.
Drew a map last week—woke up in a snack.
Christina’s hair rearranged my face.
I look better now. But less in place.

I don’t trust chairs, or spoons, or time.
But Frank’s fish speak in honest rhyme.
Matt says “wait,” and I think he’s right—
‘Cause Tuesday’s a riddle.
But only at night.