[Intro, a train window feeling, soft and drifting, a little wistful before the first word] the light was different there I don't know how, only that it was [Verse 1, close and remembering, the voice slightly far away like looking through glass] I left my ordinary shoes at the door and put on a version of myself that didn't know the way and didn't need to the sea, or was it just the wind smelled like somewhere I hadn't used yet every street was a question and I liked not knowing the answer [Verse 2, the same softness, memory folding gently into the present] I keep that day in a small pocket not the photographs, just the feeling of being no one in particular in a place that didn't know my name I have not gone back I think I am afraid it will look ordinary now but tonight, just thinking of it some of that light comes back into the room [Bridge, instruments thin to a single mandolin line, tender and unhurried] I am not there I am only remembering being there and somehow that is enough to loosen something in my chest [Chorus, warm and wide, opening gently, never lifting into volume] so I hold that far-off day the way you hold a warm stone in your pocket not to go back just to remember I once stepped outside my own life [Outro, gentle resolution, the memory settling softly, full stop ending] the light fades back to ordinary and that is alright some days you keep not to relive, but to remember you can leave
