From the album Hours Were the Birds
This is about someone who keeps trying to convince herself she doesn't need connection, then admitting she's terrible at it. The steamboat fantasy isn't about becoming stronger or more independent. It's about becoming useful enough that someone might keep her around.
Well, I'm just a stranger, I'm only a walker / I guess I am human, but sometimes I feel / Like I'm only a ghost, like I'm only a wall
Three attempts to define herself, each one less solid than the last. She downgrades from stranger to walker to ghost to wall, like she's testing how little she can claim to be before it matches how she feels.
Well, I've been arranging each of my movements / And all of my gestures, and trying to fool myself / Into thinking that everything's small
She's been performing indifference, staging her own detachment. Then she breaks: 'A convulsion of honesty brought me to life.' The song itself is that convulsion.
One day I'mma be your steamboat, baby / One day I can be your freight train lady / I'll roll down the river, and the miles won't phase me
The industrial metaphors aren't about strength. Steamboats and freight trains exist to carry things for other people. She's imagining a version of herself that's built to be depended on, hoping that makes her harder to leave.
Oh, I wish I was better at being alone / Still every night, I call you on the phone
The wish comes first, then the confession that undoes it. She knows what she should want, knows she can't have it, calls anyway.
Oh, I wish I was more than my skin and my bones
Not wishing to be loved. Wishing to be more substantial, like the problem is she doesn't have enough mass to matter.
Lenker writes like someone who tried minimalism and found out she's bad at it. The song doesn't resolve. She's still calling every night, still wishing she was different, still trying to turn need into something that sounds like choice.