The Room Where the Forgetting Keeps Its Things

Glenys the Faerie

Dreamscapes

Glenys the Faerie

blues, ambient, trip hop

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[The Room Where the Forgetting Keeps Its Things]
[Dreamscapes — Track VI]

(Verse 1)
A shelf of mornings leaned against a wall without a room,
Each one labelled softly in a handwriting not mine.
A coat hook held a feeling that I'd lost somewhere in June,
And the floor sloped gently toward a drain of fading light.

The air smelled like the colour of a Tuesday I'd forgotten,
And a drawer fell open, showing things I'd given back.
A name sat folded neatly in a box beside the window—
I recognised the shape of it, but not what it had meant.

(Pre-Chorus)
Something in the stillness turned to look at where I'd been,
And a clock on nothing measured time in what had gone unseen.

(Chorus)
In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in careful rows,
Where the half-remembered flickers and the almost-feeling glows,
Every piece of what I've lost is filed by weight and colour here,
And the room adds one more item every time I disappear.

(Verse 2)
A mirror held an afternoon that no longer held me back,
And the window showed a garden that had left before I did.
On a table sat a silence I had worn for seven years—
Still folded in the shape of me, but cooling at the edge.

A staircase led to somewhere I had already forgotten going,
And the ceiling pressed the darkness like a thought that never spoke.
A chair held the impression of a grief without a body,
And the light moved like it knew me from a life I hadn't led.

(Pre-Chorus)
Something breathing softly in the space between the shelves,
And a hum of recognition from a room that keeps itself.

(Bridge)
I reached for something on a shelf — it moved before I touched it,
Already knowing what I'd want before I'd thought to want.
A door behind me closed on nothing, sealing what I'd been here,
And the window showed me leaving long before I'd turned to go.

On the floor — a thing with no name, only texture,
Warm and faintly breathing, filed under what I never said.
I picked it up and held it, and the room leaned close around me,
Then the thing was someone else's and my hands had gone to grey.

(Breakdown — soft, disoriented)
Cold hum threading through the catalogues of me,
Something in the filing knows what I came here to keep.

(Final Chorus)
In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in fading rows,
Where the still-warm almost-memories line the walls and softly glow,
I have left here something nameless I have not yet learned to miss,
And the room will keep it tidily until I don't know what it is.

(Outro)
A single object, shelved in me, without a label now,
And the Room adds what I'm carrying — though I couldn't tell you how.

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[The Room Where the Forgetting Keeps Its Things] [Dreamscapes — Track VI] (Verse 1) A shelf of mornings leaned against a wall without a room, Each one labelled softly in a handwriting not mine. A coat hook held a feeling that I'd lost somewhere in June, And the floor sloped gently toward a drain of fading light. The air smelled like the colour of a Tuesday I'd forgotten, And a drawer fell open, showing things I'd given back. A name sat folded neatly in a box beside the window— I recognised the shape of it, but not what it had meant. (Pre-Chorus) Something in the stillness turned to look at where I'd been, And a clock on nothing measured time in what had gone unseen. (Chorus) In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in careful rows, Where the half-remembered flickers and the almost-feeling glows, Every piece of what I've lost is filed by weight and colour here, And the room adds one more item every time I disappear. (Verse 2) A mirror held an afternoon that no longer held me back, And the window showed a garden that had left before I did. On a table sat a silence I had worn for seven years— Still folded in the shape of me, but cooling at the edge. A staircase led to somewhere I had already forgotten going, And the ceiling pressed the darkness like a thought that never spoke. A chair held the impression of a grief without a body, And the light moved like it knew me from a life I hadn't led. (Pre-Chorus) Something breathing softly in the space between the shelves, And a hum of recognition from a room that keeps itself. (Chorus) In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in careful rows, Where the half-remembered flickers and the almost-feeling glows, Every piece of what I've lost is filed by weight and colour here, And the room adds one more item every time I disappear. (Bridge) I reached for something on a shelf — it moved before I touched it, Already knowing what I'd want before I'd thought to want. A door behind me closed on nothing, sealing what I'd been here, And the window showed me leaving long before I'd turned to go. On the floor — a thing with no name, only texture, Warm and faintly breathing, filed under what I never said. I picked it up and held it, and the room leaned close around me, Then the thing was someone else's and my hands had gone to grey. (Breakdown — soft, disoriented) Cold hum threading through the catalogues of me, Something in the filing knows what I came here to keep. (Final Chorus) In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in fading rows, Where the still-warm almost-memories line the walls and softly glow, I have left here something nameless I have not yet learned to miss, And the room will keep it tidily until I don't know what it is. (Outro) A single object, shelved in me, without a label now, And the Room adds what I'm carrying — though I couldn't tell you how.

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