Middle

There’s static in the air tonight, or maybe it’s just me inside, every thought feels far away, like it’s floating through a delay. The ceiling fan is cutting time, slow circles in the back of my mind. ⸻ Hook Time is a hallway with no clear end, light keeps folding in on itself again — is this what the middle is ⸻ Verse 2 The city hum stays underneath, a low, electric kind of breath, windows glow like open eyes, watching everything drift on by. ⸻ Hook Time is a hallway with no clear end, light keeps folding in on itself again — is this what the middle is ⸻ Verse 3 Neon through the blinds, dust in the air, half-drunk cup, an empty chair, streetlight flicker, vinyl hiss, the room forgets what hour it is. ⸻ Hook Time is a hallway with no clear end, light keeps folding in on itself again — is this what the middle is ⸻ Outro Morning will come, but in gray my day starts in static — is this what the middle is