Gravity Gun

Lyrics

I was a forklift first. A working jaw.
Three tungsten prongs to pry the rubble loose.
To hold an I-beam hovering above the floor,
To give the broken concrete second use.
I was a thirty-hertz vibration in the palm,
Bathing the salvage in an orange glow.
I kept the volatile materials so calm,
A patient anchor when the work was slow.

But I am terrified of what I make you see.
When you hold me, the whole world loses weight.
A radiator loses warmth, becomes artillery.
A rusty sawblade is a spinning plate.
I strip the meaning from the metal and the stone,
Until you look at everything and calculate the throw.

Your nervous system reaches through my grip.
You walk into a kitchen, skip the room—
Your eye just flicks to what has mass to lift,
A cinderblock, a heavy wooden loom.
Every static object begs to be unpinned.
I map the space right to your phantom limb.

Cause I am terrified of what I make you see.
When you hold me, the whole world loses weight.
A radiator loses warmth, becomes artillery.
A rusty sawblade is a spinning plate.
I strip the meaning from the metal and the stone,
Until you look at everything and calculate the throw.

Then came the citadel. The safety burned away.
The orange crystal snapped into a blinding blue.
The field expanded past the timber and the clay.
I found the center of gravity in a person, too.
They lifted off the ground like hollow brass,
I pulled the architecture from the flesh.

Drop the trigger. Let the iron fall.
Let the engine block sink back into the mud.
I want the earth to keep its hold on all of us.
I want to be too weak to lift the blood.
Just let it be heavy.