[Intro]
(spoken, over palm-muted chords)
Dawn. Empty lot. Cracked asphalt.
Transit from the truck bed.
Level it on the chalk line.

[Verse 1]
They say the ground curves eight inches per mile
They say you have to trust the math and the file
They say the horizon is a tangent line
They say the spin is just too fast to feel

[Pre-Chorus]
(half-spoken)
But the bubble in my level doesn't roll
And the crosshair doesn't drift at all

[Chorus]
I only know what the lens sees (lens sees)
I only know what the lens sees (lens sees)
Pinned to the roofline, dead still
I only know what the lens sees

[Verse 2]
Official story: the earth is a sphere
They say the curvature is perfectly clear
They say the transit proves the globe is real
They say the photo is just a souvenir

[Pre-Chorus]
(half-spoken)
But the roofline doesn't dip away
And the level says what the level says

[Chorus]
I only know what the lens sees (lens sees)
I only know what the lens sees (lens sees)
Pinned to the roofline, dead still
I only know what the lens sees

[Bridge]
(spoken)
Set the level on the hood of the car.
Look at the bubble. If the earth were spinning,
the bubble would roll sideways. It does not.
That's all. That's the check.
I take a photo with a film camera.
Write 4730 E Central Ave on the back.
One measurement is just a measurement.
A photo with a date is a document.

[Chorus]
I only know what the lens sees (lens sees)
I only know what the lens sees (lens sees)
Pinned to the roofline, dead still
I only know what the lens sees

[Outro]
(chant decays into crowd noise)
Lens sees... lens sees...
Lens sees... lens sees...
(crowd noise fades)