[Intro] [Washed-out, melancholic synth pads swell and fade] [Faint sound of vinyl crackle] [Male vocal, intimate whisper, close to the mic] (Testing... one, two...) (Is this love on?) [Verse 1] [Smooth, breathy male vocal begins] [Clean lo-fi drum machine and a deep 808 bassline enter] Blue light flickers from your telephone screen You're laughing at a twenty-second scene I'm trying to find the words the poets used Before our feelings got so easily bruised I've studied history, the ancient art of praise From Grecian "Nymphs" to chivalrous "My Lady's" gaze [Pre-Chorus] [Beat becomes more driving, a subtle synth arpeggio starts to pulse] [Vocal intensity builds slightly] I wanna write you sonnets on a piece of parchment skin But all I get is "LOL" when I don't know where to begin I feel like I'm a relic, a ghost in this machine Trying to paint a masterpiece in shades of seen [Chorus] [Beat drops with full synth-pop energy, shimmering chords] [Vocals become stronger, layered with harmonies and a smooth falsetto] I wanna call you "Goddess," "Muse," my "Ethereal Star" But we're just making small talk in a stranger's car I wanna call you "My Soul," a "Flower of Virtue," bold and true But you just swipe on past me saying, "Babe, I love you too" I'm selling vintage feelings that nobody wants to buy A romantic echo in a world of quick reply Guess I'm just a classic soul Living for a digital girl [Verse 2] [Music softens, bass and vocals more prominent] [Distant, reverb-heavy electric guitar plays a gentle, sad melody] The Romantics called their lovers "Angel," "Guiding Light" Their passion burned like supernovas in the night I tried to call you "My Queen" when we were on the train You put your headphones on and said, "It looks like rain" [Vocalist gives a soft, defeated laugh] It's just the little moments, the casual, modern grace That leaves my epic declarations lost without a trace [Pre-Chorus] [Beat and synths build up again] I wanna write you symphonies on a piece of parchment skin But all I get is "LOL" when I don't know where to begin I feel like I'm a relic, a ghost in this machine Trying to paint a masterpiece in shades of seen [Chorus] [Full energy, more passionate and soaring vocals] [Falsetto ad-libs like "my star, my soul" in the background] I wanna call you "Goddess," "Muse," my "Ethereal Star" But we're just making small talk in a stranger's car I wanna call you "My Soul," a "Flower of Virtue," bold and true But you just swipe on past me saying, "Babe, I love you too" I'm selling vintage feelings that nobody wants to buy A romantic echo in a world of quick reply Guess I'm just a classic soul Living for a digital girl [Bridge] [Music breaks down to just pulsing synth pads and a single, heartbeat-like kick drum] [Vocals become a high, breathy falsetto] From "My Lady" to "Psiapsi" From "My Soul" to just "sweetie" Does this language lose its meaning? Is this feeling just as fleeting? I read the words, "Gwiazda," "Perła," "Klejnot," from a foreign page Trapped inside a different story, on a different stage... [Guitar Solo] [Emotional, soaring electric guitar solo, drenched in reverb and delay. It plays over the full chorus instrumentation, expressing the wordless frustration and longing. The synths create a massive wall of sound beneath it.] [Outro] [Music slowly fades out, leaving just the atmospheric synth pads and the final guitar notes echoing] [Vocal returns to an intimate whisper] My vintage soul... (Goddess...) (Muse...) For my digital girl... (Babe...) [A single, melancholic piano chord hangs in the air and fades to silence]
