Foreword From the street, sitting through a craving looks exactly like doing nothing. A friend told me over chat that I analyse too much and act too little, and this is me working out what acting would even be, two minutes to seven on a weekend evening with the shop five minutes away. Forcing it like a drill sergeant and buying the craving off turned out to be the same move: both leave the room. I asked her what if it's all for nothing. Lyrics [Verse 1] Six fifty-eight. This is the moment. I brought a spark home from the hotel. The weekend says I've earned something sweet, the shop's five minutes. The shop knows me well. Everything after stands on this. [Chorus] From the street you'd swear it's a freeze: one lamp, one man, one coat on the hook. But every piece of me is crawling home. I've never worked this hard at rest. This is me healing myself in my home nest. [Verse 2] She types: you think too much and do too little. Be kind, she says, not a sergeant's yell. March myself, and there's nobody home, and drowning it out is a lie I can't sell. What if it's all for nothing? One more excuse. [Chorus] From the street you'd swear it's a freeze: one lamp, one man, one coat on the hook. But every piece of me is crawling home. I've never worked this hard at rest. This is me healing myself in my home nest. [Bridge] Dead calm on the street. The storm's in this room. It was never the sugar. It's a week I couldn't digest. The easy thing's not the shop, it's to bury the spark and not care. I'm not stuck. I'm defragmenting. Every second of it, the grip lets go. She sends it back to me, word for word. [Final Chorus] From the street you'd swear it's a freeze: one lamp, one man, one coat on the hook. But every piece of me is crawling home. I've never worked this hard at rest. This is me healing myself in my home nest. [Outro] Seven thirty-one. The drive's still running.
