[Verse 1] There’s a drip in the kitchen, but no one hears it at noon. The neighbours speak in half-words, they chew through the afternoon. I mark time in receipts, the names of unfamiliar streets, and my coat still smells like your front porch in April. [Verse 2] Summer came with plastic chairs stacked outside the pharmacy. Kids with scooters in the car park, everyone else in therapy. I bought cherries from a man who smiled without teeth — He said, “Late season fruit always tastes like goodbye.” [Chorus] And I’ve been gone too long to call it a break. And I’ve stayed too quiet to call it a mistake. But when autumn breathes down the alley behind my flat, I want the streetlight hum of home — just like that. [Verse 3] The winter here doesn’t land, it floats, hangs in the air like an apology note. I made friends with a bartender who asks if I’m okay in the tone you used when you knew I wouldn’t stay. [Bridge] Every skyline blurs into the one before, and every morning I mistake the floorboards for yours. [Chorus – repeat] And I’ve been gone too long to call it a break. And I’ve stayed too quiet to call it a mistake. But when autumn breathes down the alley behind my flat, I want the streetlight hum of home — just like that. [Outro – spoken/sung] Some things don’t miss you back. But I still leave the porch light on, just in case. Even here. Even here.
