Saints

Cold Harbour Hymn [Intro] (clean electric guitar with chorus, melodic bass enters, restrained toms) [Verse 1] The clock above the station lost an hour, Nobody bothered putting it back. Someone chalked a swallow on the pavement, Rain kept trying to erase the fact. Your cigarette burned down beside the railing, Mine went out before the first drag. You laughed the way closed cinemas echo, Soft enough to make the silence brag. [Pre-Chorus] Every promise gathers dust eventually. Some just learn to wear it well. [Chorus] We built our saints from chipped enamel, Second-hand books and borrowed coats. Every blessing came with blunt instructions Folded inside winter overcoats. If love survives, it does so quietly, Never asking crowds to understand. It slips between the smallest gestures, Like seawater working through your hands. [Verse 2] A florist swept the petals into gutters, White carnations bruised against the curb. The baker closed before the evening weather; Nothing dramatic, just another word. Your handwriting leaned across a postcard, Half a sentence, then it changed its mind. Some departures don’t require a suitcase, Only somewhere else to leave behind. [Pre-Chorus] The city’s pulse ignored our breathing. We mistook that for relief. [Chorus] We built our saints from chipped enamel, Old café songs and cracked parade drums. No procession came to claim us; Morning simply arrived because it comes. You held my sleeve instead of answering. That was all the truth required. Some conversations never finish; They just grow quieter with time. [Bridge] The harbour ferries crossed without us. Their windows burned like patient eyes. Nobody waved. Nobody lingered. The tide declined to take a side. I found your scarf in early April, Still carrying the smell of smoke and rain. Not enough to call it memory, Too much to throw away. [Final Chorus] We’ll leave no statues when we’re finished, Nothing anyone could polish bright. Only ordinary afternoons That somehow outlived every night. And if there’s grace, it isn’t waiting At the end of some triumphant climb. It’s hiding in the smallest mercies, The ones we only notice after time. [Outro] (bass carries the final melody as guitars dissolve into harmonics)