[Intro - reflective, cyclical] [Soft pulse, spacious arrangement] There's a light that falls at seven on the same old table. The bar unlocks the door, chairs come down, a scooter tears past outside and the window gives a little shake. Years ago, we were sitting there. We didn't know it, but we were already becoming a memory. [Verse 1] We used to say: "See you tomorrow." As if tomorrow was a room already booked. Same faces. Same glasses. Same song playing that nobody really listened to. The seasons changed outside. Inside, it felt as though time had forgotten our address. [Pre-Chorus] Then one chair stayed empty. Then one number stopped calling. Then somebody moved away. And without making a sound, the whole group slowly became a photograph. [Chorus] It's still here, the same light on the table, the same noise from the street, the same door opening. Everything comes back. No one comes back the same. We thought time was passing in front of us. It was passing through us. [Instrumental] [Verse 2] Years later I walked into the same place. The counter was new. The owner wasn't. He looked at me one second too long before he knew who I was. "You're still you." I smiled. But we both knew that wasn't true. In the mirror behind the bottles I saw the boy I used to be standing for a second behind the man I'd become. Then somebody opened the door and he was gone. [Pre-Chorus] A city keeps strange little promises. A sign. A balcony. The sound of a metal shutter. Dinner drifting from a ground-floor kitchen. Small things that pin a moment to the world. You pass them again and suddenly something inside you switches back on. [Chorus] It's still here, the same light on the table, the same noise from the street, the same door opening. Everything comes back. No one comes back the same. And one of us is missing from the photograph now. Still, some evenings it feels like he's about to walk through the door. [Bridge - stripped, intimate] Maybe memory doesn't keep the days. It keeps details. A laugh before the music starts. A hand resting on a car window. "Text me when you get home." A jacket forgotten on the back of a chair. The way the sunlight crossed that room when we were too young to understand that one day we would give almost anything to see an ordinary afternoon again. [Build] Time doesn't repeat what happened. It repeats the places where it happened. And we go back thinking we're looking for what we had. But every time, we find what we've become. [Final Chorus] It's still here, the same light on the table, the same noise from the street, the same door opening. Everything comes back. No one comes back the same. Now we're the ones somebody will remember like this. Sitting around a table. Certain there will always be another night. Another round. Another time. [Outro - minimal] Tomorrow someone will walk in here and sit where we once sat. They'll laugh too loud. They'll say: "See you tomorrow." And for a few hours time will pretend it didn't hear them. [Final refrain, soft] Everything comes back. No one comes back the same. [End]
