[Verse 1] What can be seen, and what has lost its name, breathe in the same night, in the same frame. A house won’t fully close—its latch won’t learn, shadows won’t count, they only return. Only the stairway keeps going up, step after step, like an empty cup. [Verse 2] Voices that never made it to the sea are stitched to the land, quietly. Wearing the skin of ordinary days, they pass as habit, they pass as haze. [Pre-Chorus] The rails bend softly out of true, the world flips over like a view. To make it back, to cross that line, the tags we wore are burned to shine. [Chorus] A bodiless cat traces my ankle slow, as if it’s checking what I know. If I can’t trace it back the same, that’s where it is— the seam, the boundary, the name. [Outro] I’m still here while I can look into the corner of the room— and believe it looks back, too.
