Maps in the Margins by Rian Makar

[Verse 1] I keep a folder on my phone with little half-found things — A grainy photo of a raven, a ticket stub, a spray can ring Mother pins the schedule; Father signs another line I learn to wear the morning, then sketch a different time [Pre-Chorus] Two quiet quests in my pockets — one for truth, one for a name I follow every smudge of paint like clues inside a game [Chorus] Maps in the margins, I trace them with my thumb Headlines and hand-drawn feathers, a life that’s yet to come I’m chasing tiny echoes that the proper world forgot Maps in the margins — I’ll find myself in what I spot [Verse 2] Theo sleeps and dreams of sails; I build a softer map A scrapbook made of lantern light and notes I never tap You move like midnight headlines, every mural is a clue I tape them into pages where the family can’t view [Pre-Chorus] There’s a symmetry to wandering — a pattern in the night I read the city like a story, then I fold it out of sight [Chorus] Maps in the margins, I trace them with my thumb Headlines and hand-drawn feathers, a life that’s yet to come I’m chasing tiny echoes that the proper world forgot Maps in the margins — I’ll find myself in what I spot [Bridge (synth swell, intimate guitar)] Not searching for a legend, not hunting storied gold Just stitching up a breadcrumb trail to learn exactly how I’m bold A laugh between the columns, a feather taped in glue Two eras in a moment — the public me and true [Chorus (lifted)] Maps in the margins, paper towns and neon lines Names we never speak aloud, and midnight’s borrowed signs I’ll keep the ledger tidy in daylight’s careful plot But maps in the margins show where I begin and what I’ve got [Outro (soft, close-mic)] One day I’ll leave these pages on a bench beneath the quay Maybe someone older will read what I was trying to be Maps in the margins — small, earnest, slightly raw A compass made of quiet things that point me back to more.