The Ground Is Getting Louder

[Verse 1 — close, restrained baritone; fractured guitar figure, low bass underneath] The little light is blinking like it knows me by my name. Someone's saying something but the words don't sound the same. My left shoe came untied. I don't know why I care. There's a woman holding nothing like her baby's sleeping there. The window keeps the weather. The weather keeps the blue. I thought the end would feel like dying. It feels like thinking of you. [Instrumental — guitar figure repeats incorrectly; drums enter one beat too late] [Verse 2 — rhythm begins slipping between meters] There's orange in the distance. There's Sunday in my mouth. There's the hallway at my mother's and the bedroom farther south. I can smell the August carpet. I can hear that screen door close. I can see you in the kitchen wearing someone else's clothes. None of this is happening. All of it is true. The ground is getting louder. I'm still thinking about you. [Pre-Chorus — band swells, vocal remains strangely calm] I had a hundred things to tell you. Now I only have your name. Funny what survives the falling. Funny what forgets the flame. [Chorus — enormous melodic vocal; guitars open wide] If there's somewhere after somewhere, I'll be looking for the door. If there's nothing after nothing, I won't need you anymore. God, I hate the way that sounds. God, I wish that made it true. The ground is getting louder— and I'm still thinking about you. [Instrumental — violent polyrhythmic section; no vocal] [Verse 3 — fragmented phrases between increasingly heavy impacts] My hands don't look like my hands. My watch says 4:02. We were supposed to paint the bedroom. I said I'd let you choose. There's a crack across the window. There's a song beneath the sound. There's a version of tomorrow that will never come around. Tell my— No. Don't tell— Jesus. I don't know what I meant to do. I spent my whole life finding words. Now all I've got is you. [Break — everything drops except bass pulse and breathing-space guitar] I don't want a heaven. I don't want a sign. I want Tuesday in the kitchen. I want your hand inside of mine. I want bills left on the counter. I want stupid things to do. I want every boring morning I was too alive to lose. [Heavy instrumental escalation — increasingly unstable meter, drums and guitars seemingly fighting the pulse] [Final Chorus — melody unchanged but vocal beginning to fracture] If there's somewhere after somewhere, I'll be looking for the door. If there's nothing after nothing, I won't need you anymore. God, I hate the way that sounds. God— I wish that made it true. The ground is getting louder— [Sudden instrumental drop] I can almost hear you— [Final line — nearly whispered] I can almost—