[Verse 1] The bus slips into traffic, red taillights blur in rain. I turn back toward the old block, the key bites my palm again. I choose the driest pavement, take every corner wide. A gutter fills my right shos — the weather gets inside. [Pre-Chorus] Cold closes round my ankle. Wet cotton grips my skin. Nothing left to bargain once the weather’s in. [Chorus] Wet shoes, soaked through. Once the water gets in, what can the weather do? Wet shoes, cold truth: My feet knew the way back before I was ready to. [Post-Chorus] Left foot. Right foot. Cuffs dark. Hands cold. The body keeps the appointment my mind postponed. [Verse 2] The old key marks my palm now. Her name fades beneath the bell. Four flights carry rain upstairs. The lock remembers well. The hallway smells of plaster and tea she brewed too strong. A chipped cup by the faucet, tea dried black along the rim. [Pre-Chorus 2] By now the rain is weather. No warning. No excuse. It lost the right to steer me the moment it got through. [Chorus] Wet shoes, soaked through. Once the water gets in, what can the weather do? Wet shoes, cold truth: My feet knew the way back before I was ready to. [Post-Chorus] Left foot. Right foot. Cuffs dark. Hands cold. The body keeps the appointment my mind postponed. [Bridge] I crossed before the corner, kept the doorway out of sight. Every route that spared this building kept the rooms exactly right. I thought absence made it smaller. I thought time would wear it down. But distance was just maintenance for everything I walked around. The room was never holding me. I was keeping it alive. [Breakdown] Heel. Toe. Key. Door. Rain comes in across the floor. Turn. Click. Hallway light. Wet prints break the tile’s straight lines. [Final Chorus] Wet shoes, soaked through. Once the water gets in, what can the weather do? Wet shoes, cold truth: My feet knew the way back. The key turns before I do. [Final Post-Chorus] Left foot. Right foot. Cuffs dark. Hands cold. The body kept the appointment my mind postponed. [Outro] The hallway hums. The rain collects in dark shapes beneath my soles. Across the room, one old frame leans— and doesn’t fall.
