THE MUSEUM OF ALMOST EVERYTHING 🗝🪞

+ Show full styles

[Instrumental — fuzzy guitar, warm bass]

[Verse 1 — intimate baritone]
I bought a ticket from a man without a face,
He gave me half a photograph and pointed to a place.
A building made of windows overlooked the avenue,
Every pane reflecting something I had almost lived through.
There were portraits of the people I had nearly learned to love,
And a ceiling full of stars that never quite appeared above.
A glass display contained a conversation never said,
Another held a thousand words still circling my head.
A little brass inscription read, "The future isn't fixed,"
Beside a broken hourglass where all the colours mixed.
Then a woman made of paper with a silver-painted smile
Said, "The exhibition takes forever.
But you're welcome for a while."

[Pre-Chorus — female, strings]
All the roads we never travelled,
All the knots we never tied,
All the little secret worlds
That keep unfolding deep inside.
Let the shadows have their stories,
Let the mirrors have their say;
We are more than what went missing
On an ordinary day.

[Chorus — female lead, deep male harmony]
Somewhere in the almost,
Somewhere in between,
There's a thousand little versions
Of the people we could be.
But the world outside is turning,
And the sky is breaking through;
I don't need another lifetime
When there's one right here with you.
Oh, let the almost disappear,
Let the morning find us here.

[Instrumental — guitar, strings]
[Sample, warped museum speaker]
"Exhibit ninety-nine: the argument you won in the shower."
[Male, deadpan]
That was a particularly good one.

[Verse 2 — rhythmic male narration]
In the second room a sailor kept a ship inside a jar,
Said he'd nearly crossed an ocean but had never travelled far.
A comedian sold punchlines to the things we couldn't change,
And a choir of broken telephones kept singing someone's name.
There were medals for the battles that nobody ever fought,
And a vending machine dispensing every second thought.
I pressed a little button marked "THE PERSON YOU MIGHT BE,"
And a mirror slowly opened with a face resembling me.
He looked taller, somehow richer, wore expensive polished shoes,
But his eyes were full of questions that he still had yet to lose.
He said, "I finally got the things you wanted years ago,
But I lost the little wonders you were frightened to outgrow."
And the paper woman whispered as the mirrored figure sighed,
"Every road gives something beautiful.
And leaves another thing behind."

[Pre-Chorus — male and female call-and-response]
[Female]
All the roads we never travelled,
[Male]
All the words we held inside,
[Female]
Not every door was meant to open,
[Both]
Not every dream was meant to die.

[Chorus — layered female harmonies]
Somewhere in the almost,
Somewhere in between,
There's a thousand little versions
Of the people we could be.
But the world outside is turning,
And the sky is breaking through;
I don't need another lifetime
When there's one right here with you.
Oh, let the almost disappear,
Let the morning find us here.

[Breakdown — underwater piano, cello]
[Old recording]
"The final exhibit is currently under construction."
[Male, close whisper]
I followed all the arrows to an empty little room,
With a single wooden table and a window facing June.
No photograph or painting, no impossible machine,
Just a pencil and some paper and a half-forgotten dream.
[Female, floating]
Write the things you haven't written.
Sing the words you haven't found.
Every unfinished little story
Is a seed beneath the ground.

[Instrumental — reversed guitar, violin]

[Verse 3 — warm groove slowly returns]
So I wrote a little message on a yellow piece of card:
"I was always looking outward when the answer wasn't far."
Then I crossed out all the answers, left the questions where they stood,
Because sometimes understanding isn't half as nice as good.
At the exit stood the keeper with her silver-painted grin,
Said, "You didn't take a souvenir, but something travelled in."
I looked down into my pocket where the old admission lay;
Now it read, "The best exhibit is the one you make today."
And the street was full of strangers going nowhere I could see,
Every one a little universe of possibility.

[Final Chorus — female, blooming strings]
Somewhere in the almost,
Somewhere in between,
There's a thousand little versions
Of the people we could be.
But the world outside is turning,
And the sky is breaking through;
I don't need another lifetime
When there's one right here with you.
Oh, let the almost disappear,
Let the morning find us here.

[Outro — female humming, tremolo guitar remains]
[Sample]
"Thank you for visiting."
[Male]
Is the museum always open?
[Female, smiling]
Only when you're looking backwards.
[One piano note, tape fade]

4942/7500

[Intro — vinyl hiss, footsteps, distant vibraphone] [Old recorded female voice] "Welcome to the Museum of Almost Everything." "Please refrain from touching the possibilities." [Male, quietly] I wonder what happens if you do. [Instrumental — fuzzy guitar, warm bass] [Verse 1 — intimate baritone] I bought a ticket from a man without a face, He gave me half a photograph and pointed to a place. A building made of windows overlooked the avenue, Every pane reflecting something I had almost lived through. There were portraits of the people I had nearly learned to love, And a ceiling full of stars that never quite appeared above. A glass display contained a conversation never said, Another held a thousand words still circling my head. A little brass inscription read, "The future isn't fixed," Beside a broken hourglass where all the colours mixed. Then a woman made of paper with a silver-painted smile Said, "The exhibition takes forever. But you're welcome for a while." [Pre-Chorus — female, strings] All the roads we never travelled, All the knots we never tied, All the little secret worlds That keep unfolding deep inside. Let the shadows have their stories, Let the mirrors have their say; We are more than what went missing On an ordinary day. [Chorus — female lead, deep male harmony] Somewhere in the almost, Somewhere in between, There's a thousand little versions Of the people we could be. But the world outside is turning, And the sky is breaking through; I don't need another lifetime When there's one right here with you. Oh, let the almost disappear, Let the morning find us here. [Instrumental — guitar, strings] [Sample, warped museum speaker] "Exhibit ninety-nine: the argument you won in the shower." [Male, deadpan] That was a particularly good one. [Verse 2 — rhythmic male narration] In the second room a sailor kept a ship inside a jar, Said he'd nearly crossed an ocean but had never travelled far. A comedian sold punchlines to the things we couldn't change, And a choir of broken telephones kept singing someone's name. There were medals for the battles that nobody ever fought, And a vending machine dispensing every second thought. I pressed a little button marked "THE PERSON YOU MIGHT BE," And a mirror slowly opened with a face resembling me. He looked taller, somehow richer, wore expensive polished shoes, But his eyes were full of questions that he still had yet to lose. He said, "I finally got the things you wanted years ago, But I lost the little wonders you were frightened to outgrow." And the paper woman whispered as the mirrored figure sighed, "Every road gives something beautiful. And leaves another thing behind." [Pre-Chorus — male and female call-and-response] [Female] All the roads we never travelled, [Male] All the words we held inside, [Female] Not every door was meant to open, [Both] Not every dream was meant to die. [Chorus — layered female harmonies] Somewhere in the almost, Somewhere in between, There's a thousand little versions Of the people we could be. But the world outside is turning, And the sky is breaking through; I don't need another lifetime When there's one right here with you. Oh, let the almost disappear, Let the morning find us here. [Breakdown — underwater piano, cello] [Old recording] "The final exhibit is currently under construction." [Male, close whisper] I followed all the arrows to an empty little room, With a single wooden table and a window facing June. No photograph or painting, no impossible machine, Just a pencil and some paper and a half-forgotten dream. [Female, floating] Write the things you haven't written. Sing the words you haven't found. Every unfinished little story Is a seed beneath the ground. [Instrumental — reversed guitar, violin] [Verse 3 — warm groove slowly returns] So I wrote a little message on a yellow piece of card: "I was always looking outward when the answer wasn't far." Then I crossed out all the answers, left the questions where they stood, Because sometimes understanding isn't half as nice as good. At the exit stood the keeper with her silver-painted grin, Said, "You didn't take a souvenir, but something travelled in." I looked down into my pocket where the old admission lay; Now it read, "The best exhibit is the one you make today." And the street was full of strangers going nowhere I could see, Every one a little universe of possibility. [Final Chorus — female, blooming strings] Somewhere in the almost, Somewhere in between, There's a thousand little versions Of the people we could be. But the world outside is turning, And the sky is breaking through; I don't need another lifetime When there's one right here with you. Oh, let the almost disappear, Let the morning find us here. [Outro — female humming, tremolo guitar remains] [Sample] "Thank you for visiting." [Male] Is the museum always open? [Female, smiling] Only when you're looking backwards. [One piano note, tape fade]

0/500