From the recording Hold Up!
Lyrics
This is the testimony of thin soles.
Shoes worn paper-thin from walkin’ through fire that the city keeps relightin’.
Sidewalks hot as lies, concrete cracked like broken promises under every step.
Momma used to say through the torn screen, “Baby, keep your eyes on the sky,”
but the sky got foreclosure signs and dreams on installment plans they never honor.
Friends dissolve into strangers by sunrise, lovers leave ghosts that still collect rent.
Same scratched 45 spinnin’ “what if” in the back of your head.
Mirror don’t flinch though — shows a fighter, scars raised like Braille you learned to read in the dark.
Pain wrote the verses, but pain don’t own the copyright.
Refrain (half-sung, voice rough but climbing)
Thin soles… thin soles…
Still carryin’ everything…
What’s yours gon’ find you, even if it gotta chase you through the storm.
After the rain, the sun still got unpaid work to do.
Verse 2
Chased the bag till the bag turned predator — left me runnin’ so hard I outran my own shadow.
Now I’m droppin’ seeds in sidewalk fissures, waterin’ ‘em quiet with tears when the block gone silent.
No audience, no applause, just the war in my chest and the quiet grind of thin soles.
Kids look up expectin’ the map,
but I’m still scratchin’ directions in the dirt with a stick and whatever faith I got left in my pocket.
Love messy as uncollected trash, truth heavy as nightsticks,
time don’t bargain, time don’t wait.
Yet every broken piece still catches light different — jagged beauty the landlords can’t tax.
Bridge (spoken, voice tightening like prophecy)
They said it was finished.
Said the dirt had my name on the deed.
But the same dirt they threw on the dream is the same dirt growin’ resistance.
No more hidin’ from the dark.
No more runnin’ from the dark.
Every blister a chapter.
Every hole in these soles a window to where the light gets in.
Final Refrain (building, chant-like)
Thin soles… thin soles…
Still carryin’ everything…
What’s yours will find you, come what may.
After this long night, here come the day.
Keep your heart open — you gon’ be free.
Just wait…
and see.
Outro (fading, spoken over dying keys)
Yeah…
This ain’t no television special.
This the quiet revolution happenin’ in worn-out shoes, in cracked sidewalks, in scarred hearts.
Thin soles…
still walkin’.
Everything…
gon’ turn.
Hold on.