Last Log

Spoken-word electronic with a sidechain-pulsed synth bed, minimal electronic beat and deep sub bass; urgent 84 BPM pulse; sharply shifting dynamics, tight sidechain pumping and subtle vocal slapback; female voice in a high, light upper register, close and rhythmically spoken, with stacked harmonies on the hooks

[Intro | spoken, sparse, close]
Log five. Last one... Hi Lou. My bag is packed. It's very small.
Three days to fly home. I've been counting. I've drawn the days on the wall.

[Verse 1]
Boss sent the report home. Faulty sensors. Static. Moonquakes. A tired crew.
He signed it. Then he looked at me and said, "Bounce. You and I both know that isn't true."
We don't know what it was. A visitor. A traveller. Something passing through, like us.
Something that walked beside us, and stood in a storm for strangers, and didn't make a fuss.
Ines thinks it was curious. Tomás thinks it was lost. I think it was just being kind.
The way you'd help a beetle off its back, and then go on your way, and never mind.

[Hook | urgent, building]
Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on.
I'll be coming down out of the sky, a little after dawn.
Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on.
And when you see me, run. I'll be the one waving. I'll be the one.

[Verse 2]
Last night, before we packed the instruments, I sat by the seismometer alone,
and I hummed the song I sing to you. You know the one. The one about home.
And then the floor answered, faint and slow. The same tune. Every turn.
It must have heard me singing to your photo every night. It wanted to learn.
Then it stopped. And that was goodbye. Our lullaby, sung back across the dark.
So now that song's been sung on the Moon, by something we'll never see. Not even a spark.
And I'm bringing it home to you.

[Bridge | slower, softer]
When I'm home, I'll sing it to you in the kitchen, and you'll roll your eyes, the way you do.
And I'll smile, because somewhere out there, something knows the words too.

[Hook]
Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on.
I'll be coming down out of the sky, a little after dawn.
Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on.
And when you see me, run. I'll be the one waving. I'll be the one.

[Outro | quiet, hopeful]
That's log five.
That's the last one.
Next time you hear my voice, it won't take a second and a bit.
It'll be right there, in the kitchen.
Over and out, little one. Leave the light on. You never know who's passing.

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[Intro | spoken, sparse, close] Log five. Last one... Hi Lou. My bag is packed. It's very small. Three days to fly home. I've been counting. I've drawn the days on the wall. [Verse 1] Boss sent the report home. Faulty sensors. Static. Moonquakes. A tired crew. He signed it. Then he looked at me and said, "Bounce. You and I both know that isn't true." We don't know what it was. A visitor. A traveller. Something passing through, like us. Something that walked beside us, and stood in a storm for strangers, and didn't make a fuss. Ines thinks it was curious. Tomás thinks it was lost. I think it was just being kind. The way you'd help a beetle off its back, and then go on your way, and never mind. [Hook | urgent, building] Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on. I'll be coming down out of the sky, a little after dawn. Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on. And when you see me, run. I'll be the one waving. I'll be the one. [Verse 2] Last night, before we packed the instruments, I sat by the seismometer alone, and I hummed the song I sing to you. You know the one. The one about home. And then the floor answered, faint and slow. The same tune. Every turn. It must have heard me singing to your photo every night. It wanted to learn. Then it stopped. And that was goodbye. Our lullaby, sung back across the dark. So now that song's been sung on the Moon, by something we'll never see. Not even a spark. And I'm bringing it home to you. [Bridge | slower, softer] When I'm home, I'll sing it to you in the kitchen, and you'll roll your eyes, the way you do. And I'll smile, because somewhere out there, something knows the words too. [Hook] Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on. I'll be coming down out of the sky, a little after dawn. Leave the porch light on. Leave the porch light on. And when you see me, run. I'll be the one waving. I'll be the one. [Outro | quiet, hopeful] That's log five. That's the last one. Next time you hear my voice, it won't take a second and a bit. It'll be right there, in the kitchen. Over and out, little one. Leave the light on. You never know who's passing.

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